


Rungian Archetypes: The Adventures of an Unforgettable Interface Therapist

by Lycaste



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Planet, Alt Modes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cameos, Crack, Falling In Love, Fluff, Humor, Other, Other Pairings - Freeform, Plug and Play Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychobabble, Romance, Sexual Tension, Spoilers, Time Shenanigans, ridiculous plot devices, sex advice, space adventures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-31 17:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycaste/pseuds/Lycaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Autobot psychologist Rung endeavors to provide therapy to the many dysfunctional mechs aboard the <i>Lost Light</i>, including his sexy current patient Fortress Maximus. Can Rung deal with the mysteries and adventures in his life, all while resisting his fiery, wildly unprofessional, and growing attraction to Fort Max?</p><p>Beware! Spoils events in MTMTE up to the beginning of issue 14 and issue 22, including Rung's surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Story assumes that Max is spending time outside the brig on a trial period, working shifts and then going back to his cell.
> 
> Takes place in the very beginning of #14, right before the traumatic...incident. Since that doesn't happen here, and since canon will surely soon take a different direction, we'll call this a canon divergent AU. Also references events in Robots in Disguise, but you don't need to read that to follow this fic.
> 
> Written for the Halloween challenge on the tf rare pairing comm on LJ, although I didn't finish it in time. The prompt was 'surrounded by friends'.
> 
> This is just a cracky story about giant robots falling in love and having (hopefully) steamy plug and play sex. It's not meant to be a treatise on psychology or PTSD. Please be aware, contains vague references to trauma and past abuse.

_A few months ago…_

 

"It's Rung, right? Thanks for the save back there."

Rung watched Thunderclash sign the picture, employing every ounce of his professionalism and self-control to not freak out and start giggling like a fanbot. This was _Thunderclash_ , perfect, heroic Thunderclash. And Rung had just been instrumental in saving him. With his ridiculous alt mode, no less.

"My pleasure." Rung beamed, flashing a look that he hoped was genuine and not too eager. He'd been a big fan for years. Reading about Thunderclash's adventures and noble deeds always brought a smile to his face. And a sputtering to his fuel pump. Rung had no problem admitting to himself that he had a bit of a thing for huge, sexy bots.

Thunderclash signed his name and underlined it with a flourish. "And your alt mode? I've never seen one quite like it. What does it do?"

Rung cringed. "I…I don't know, honestly. No one does."

Unlike every other bot in Rung's life who reacted to that news with shock or jesting, Thunderclash merely nodded. "A mystery, huh? Sounds like an exciting period of self-discovery is ahead of you."

Rung tried to force his fingers to stop trembling. "I guess so." Ugh. Did he really just say something that lame?

"Well, it was nice to meet you." Thunderclash handed the picture back with a stunning grin. 

"Okaaay." Rodimus broke in and started steering Thunderclash to the door. "I think your ship's all ready to go, if you're done having fan time, that is."

"Bye," said Rung, bouncing on his heels. "Thank you, Thunderclash!"

"The thanks belongs to you, my friend," said Thunderclash as he strode from the room. "And I think your alt mode is really cool."

Rung could barely contain himself. Not even the poisonous glare from Rodimus dampened his spirits. For the rest of the day, only one thing ran through his head. _Thunderclash thinks my alt mode is cool!_

 

_Now…_

 

Autobot psychiatrist Rung dashed down the hallways of the _Lost Light_ , weaving and stepping around other bots as he made his way to his office. Members of the crew brushed against him, barely noticing his existence. Some muttered an offhand apology. Some granted him a confused look, as though they'd never seen him before, and kept walking.

"Excuse me," said Rung as he eased past Hoist, ignoring the repairmech's baffled expression.

Rung checked his internal chronometer. If he hurried, he could make it to his session with Fortress Maximus on time. Max was out of the brig on probationary day release, and he was required to have a session with Rung at the end of every shift before returning to his cell. While it was clear initially that Max hated the sessions, lately he had started to relax a little, even granting the occasional smile. For his part, Rung was finding that he enjoyed Max's company, especially those secret smiles.

Maybe a little too much.

At the moment, in Rung's professional opinion, things seemed to be going well. Max was focused on his shifts, attended the sessions, and returned to his cell without complaint. He hadn't opened up as much as Rung would have liked, but the therapist was well aware that trust came with time.

He was also aware that trust was a very new and fragile thing in the beginning, and he didn't want to damage it by being late. Not when he and Max were finally starting to develop a real rapport.

Lost in his far too frequent thoughts about Fortress Maximus, it took Rung a moment to realize that the voice calling out down the hall was directed at him.

"Hey… hey there, mech. Mung…is it? Wait up…"

Rung turned around with a huff, large eyebrows knitting together. "Brainstorm. Can this wait? I'm late for a meeting."

"Yeah, sure, buddy. This will only take a second." Brainstorm carried a large pink gun with smiley faces and other drawings on it. "So…how's it going?"

"Brainstorm, I really-"

"Me? Oh, great. Just taking a break from the lab. I've been getting a lot of killer work done. You should see Perceptor." His vocalizer dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think he's really jealous."

 _Oh no_ , thought Rung. _Not this again._ "I see."

"Totally. You should've seen his face when I made this." He held up the gun like it was the Matrix itself.

Rung looked closer at the garish pink barrel. "Is that….is that an interface panel drawn on the side?"

Brainstorm snickered. "Yeah. It's hot, right? I call it the Lust Gun - Mark 69. One shot from this baby and a mech will by dying to jack into your panel and scramble your circuits."

Dirty interface talk was rarely a surprise for Rung. Mechs often wanted to talk about intimacy during therapy, yet since joining the _Lost Light_ he was hearing more of it than ever before. There was so much fragging on the ship, Rung was considering changing his title to "Interface Therapist".

 _Classic denial and projection due to an inability to accept his feelings._ Out loud he said, "So you made a lust gun for Perceptor?"

"What?!" Brainstorm looked absolutely scandalized. "No! Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. This is actually for a….friend of mine."

"A friend?"

"Well, yeah." Brainstorm laughed. "My friend. He’s really into this one mech. I don't know why. The guy's a total bore and not that cool, but my friend can't stop thinking about him. I thought this might help."

Rung placed a hand on Brainstorm's shoulder and spoke in the most calm, professional tone he could muster. "Brainstorm, perhaps this isn't the best way to help your…friend. Even if this works, the resulting encounter would be based on lies and manipulation. If your friend is really interested in this mech, he should just be honest about it. If he's not ready to make a move, he should explore the possibility of a simple friendship based on mutual interests. Do these two have anything in common?"

"Oh yeah, we have lots in common. I mean they! They do."

Rung patted him on the wing, all while trying to ease by him. "Well, start there. Think about approaching him honestly before you resort to weapons. Real relationships, even ones just based on interfacing, work out best when everyone is up front about their needs."

Brainstorm hung his head. "I'll think about it." Then he muttered. "When was the last time _you_ interfaced?"

Rung ignored him and started walking again. Right before he reached the corner he thought of one more piece of advice. "Oh, and Brainstorm," he called out, "tell your friend not to come on too strong. Some…introverted mechs might find this off-putting."

With that, he hurried to his office, dismayed when he realized he was going to be late.

 

Rung arrived at his office to find a handcuffed Fortress Maximus sitting in the waiting room next to Ultra Magnus. It was a struggle to keep a straight face at the sight of the two huge bots perched on the edges of the tiny chairs. Ultra Magnus shifted and frowned, as though offended by the idea of having to squeeze himself into substandard seating. Fortress Maximus took up three chairs, his glower fading into a small smile when Rung walked in the room.

A smile that, Rung told himself, was in no way responsible for the fluctuations in his ventilation system.

"You're eight point six minutes late," said Ultra Magnus.

"My sincere apologies," said Rung. He looked around the waiting room. While always clean, it was now immaculate. Everything, from chairs to datapads, was at a perfect right angle to the object next to it. The walls gleamed and the floor was spotless. Ultra Magnus must have cleaned up.

 _Obsessive-compulsive disorder springing from guilt and moral regrets._ "Would you mind unlocking Max?" Rung said, attempting to curtail the inevitable lecture on the importance of punctuality.

"I don't think that's a good-"

"Magnus, I appreciate your concern, but we go through this every time. If Max can be trusted to work a shift, he can be trusted to have his sessions as a free mech."

Max cast his gaze to the floor. "It's fine." 

"You could always stay," said Rung. "Watch us and make sure everything's all right. I'm sure lots of work will pile up and, yes, some rules will probably be broken in your absence but you'll restore order soon enough." Rung executed a command to arrange his faceplates into an excited look, optics wide with a bright smile. "Why, you could even have a session yourself! Group therapy can be very enlightening."

And before Rung could say "chronic compulsion", Ultra Magnus had unlocked Max and fled out the door. 

Max chuckled, actually laughed, and rubbed at his wrist joints. "Wow. Teach me how to do that?"

"I'm afraid it takes years of practice. Come in, Max."

Max followed Rung into the main office and sat on the enormous couch. While it was big enough for him to lie on, lately he seemed to prefer to sit during sessions, hunching over and examining his hands. Over the past week, he had started raising his head and making a little more eye contact. A promising sign, but it also meant that those piercing optics spent more time fixated on Rung, boring into him.

And today Max was looking good. The complex lines of his huge and powerful chassis, his delicious color scheme. Those exotic tank treads. Rung's internal temperature spiked just looking at him. And that perfectly constructed, handsome face. With those horns that someone as small as Rung could use to pull himself up and-

His professional subroutine pushed all sorts of warning messages to the top of his status queue. Rung's motor stalled. This was exactly the direction he wanted his thoughts to avoid. 

"Are you okay?" asked Max.

Rung twisted his hands, hiding them beneath his datapad. "I'm fine, Max. Just a little harried from being late. Again, so sorry about that. We should be talking about you. How are you feeling?"

"Okay I guess."

"Anything you want to talk about today?"

"No."

Rung nodded. He was learning that the direct route to Max's feelings wasn't always the best. "How are your shifts going? Are you finding it helpful to spend the days out of the brig?"

"Yes," said Max. "But I feel like I don't…." His lips pressed into a grim line.

Rung waited, ever patient. When Max didn't continue he said, "Nothing you say or feel is wrong."

“Like I don't deserve it. Being out of the brig. It’s helpful…to not be down there with the Decepticons." His face twisted with disgust. "But I'm not sure I deserve it. Not after what I did to you…."

"Maximus…" Rung's spark constricted in his chest. He leaned over and placed a hand over Max's trembling fists. "You do deserve it-"

Max caught Rung's hands in his own, the tiny orange fists dwarfed in blue. He rubbed Rung's thumb, the thumb he had ripped off during the incident. "I know we've talked about this but I just…there's just so much and I can't…I can't forgive…."

They were close, close enough to feel a flutter of electric pulses. Rung tried to wrap them both in a blanket of magnetic calm. "Max, when one suffers a serious trauma, as you have, one of the biggest initial steps forward you can make is to realize that recovery is a minute by minute process."

"Oh Primus," Max groaned. "That sounds long and excruciating."

"What I mean by that is that you will get better. But sometimes, during the darkest times, we feel despondent. We remember the pain, feel it as though it were happening all over again, as though it will never end. We're trapped by memories, shamed by desperate actions. In those times, it's easy to extrapolate. To think that the pain is who you are, that those moments define you."

Max was staring at him, full attention focused. Rung continued, "I realize it's much easier said than done, but in those times, it can help to practice being present and just trying to live through the next few minutes. Don't think about your entire recovery, just make it through the next few minutes. Productive distractions can help, engaging with others can too."

"The next few minutes?"

"Yes. This becomes easier with practice and time, and that's the goal. Once the minutes start piling up between now and the trauma, the pain will lessen a bit, seem a little less overwhelming. Eventually, you can learn to grieve, to accept what you have lost and accept more parts of yourself."

Max dropped his gaze, still caressing Rung’s hands. "And this acceptance…it's all part of reintegrating yourself as a whole?"

"Why yes, Max, yes it is. Part of that too is accepting that while we all contain the potential for terrible behavior, that doesn't make you a terrible person."

"That’s the shadow self? The Rungian Archetype?"

Rung almost fell out of his chair. "The..well..yes. But the shadow isn't always bad. It's made up of the repressed qualities of your conscious self. If you see yourself as bad or damaged, the shadow may represent your good qualities."

"So you're saying, I have to take it minute by minute, and learn to accept all parts of myself, good and bad. That this is part of the process of integrating yourself a functioning whole again?"

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying. How do you know about Rungian Archetypes?"

An energon pink tinge appeared on Max's face. "I've been reading some of your work. Not much to do while you're locked up at night, you know? I felt like I was going crazy, and Ultra Magnus said he'd bring me any datapads that didn't contain…well, basically anything even remotely offensive. So I asked for _Mech and His Symbols_ 'cause I figured he'd let me have it and it would be interesting."

Rung's fuel pump stuttered. His book? _His book?_ Meeting someone who said they read _Mech and His Symbols_ was like meeting someone who thought Megatron was a barrel of laughs. Rung reached up to place an excited hand on Max's arm, moving in even closer until he was half on the couch, half on Max's lap. He may have made some ridiculous laugh sound. "You're reading my work? Nobody reads my work. What do you think of it?"

Max frowned, a look Rung had come to recognize not as anger, but as concentration. "It's interesting, especially the ideas about archetypes and becoming a whole mech." He ducked his head and pulled Rung in just a little closer. "Can't say I understand it all though. It's all a little too theoretical, you know...I'm a mech of action. Not words."

Their eyes locked again, and Rung was painfully aware of how unprofessional their position had become. Holding hands, sitting in Max's lap. His electrical field buzzing with excitement and interest. He jerked back, scrambling a little too fast but keeping his hold on Max's hand. 

"Well," Rung tried to keep his voice even. "You want to take action. That's good. Let's start with a simple contract and an easy goal."

"What do you mean?"

"It's helpful to have a goal to work towards. Anything. It doesn't have to be major. Maybe make a goal to strike up a conversation with a different person every day, or have a drink at Swerve's, or-"

"NOT Swerve's. They don't...well, you know.."

Rung did know. The thought of Max showing up at Swerve's made everybody jumpy. "Okay. Not Swerve's. That's fine. How about getting out of the brig? I'm sure you'd like that."

"Yeah.” 

"You're already halfway there. Set a goal that you're going to work your shifts, do your best, and get out of the brig permanently. This will give you something to look forward to."

Max nodded once. "Okay."

"Now, the contract. We need to move beyond the incident that happened in this office. To begin, simply agree to accept my forgiveness."

"But I already-"

"Max, the depth of your guilt tells me that you haven't. The next time you think about it, remember that I forgave you, and that I wanted you to accept it. You can condition your mind to think about forgiveness whenever this topic comes up for you."

"I don't know about this, Rung."

Pushing aside the thrill that was _he remembered my name_ , Rung stood. He raised himself up as high as he could, which wasn't very far even next to a seated Fortress Maximus, and said, "Would you be willing to start here? Make a contract with me that you'll accept my forgiveness for the incident, and make it your goal to be released from the brig."

For a moment, it looked like Max wasn't going to respond. Finally he rose until he towered over Rung. He shook the therapist's hand firmly. "Okay. Okay I'll try."

"There," said Rung with a smile. "You survived another minute."

 

After Ultra Magnus returned to escort Max back to the brig, Rung sat at his desk and buried his head in his hands. How had he let it come to this? The signs had been there for a while. A physical reaction here, a fleeting thought there. For someone so in tune with motivations and feelings, how had he ignored his own for so long? _Denial. Rationalization._

Such feelings were bound to crop up at some point with a patient. Really, it was a miracle it had never happened before, and hostage situations often resulted in an emotionally complex aftermath. But the way he had been thinking about Max, so very unethical. Was it possible to push through it? No ignoring, no more denial. To just acknowledge and own those feelings and hope they dissipated?

Rung wasn't that naive, but he was the only person on this ship full of psychologically crippled, dysfunctional bots even remotely qualified to act as a therapist. And Max needed help, which was far more important than Rung's silly crush. He could do it. Provide the best care he could and remain uncompromised. 

He placed his hands on the desk, resolute. Yes, he could do it. If need be, he could honestly revisit the issue with himself. But for now, he could focus on being professional and not linger on huge hands and tank treads. 

It wouldn't be a problem. Not at all.


	2. Chapter 2

"So then I said, 'waste pipe, I thought it was his intake'. I swear, Trailcutter laughed so hard I thought he was gonna split his force field." Swerve picked through the weapons in Brainstorm's lab, a dizzying array of reverse time bombs, manifold blasters, infrasound cannons, and even something named 'The Inside-Out Maker'. He fingered almost every gun, finally drawing Brainstorm's attention when he picked up something with lots of coils and said, "What's this one do?"

"That's the ‘Spring-Loaded Face Melter’, or the ‘Coils of Carnage’. I haven't decided yet." Brainstorm snatched the gun out of Swerve's hands. "Don't touch. In fact, don't touch anything. In fact, why are you all here again?"

Rung had the same question. Chromedome had come to discuss something with Brainstorm, dragging Rewind in tow. In turn, Rewind had corralled both Rung and Swerve and invited them along too, visor bright with promises of good stories and fun hang out times with friends.

Swerve was chattier than normal, mouth running like his life depended on it. If there was a gap in the conversation, he filled it with whatever inane topic came into his processor. Although he launched an air raid of speech at Rung, he couldn't meet the psychiatrist's optics while doing so. Every time Rung responded, Swerve would drop his gaze and continue talking, albeit in a softer mumble.

_Overcompensation for insecurities and deep, unaddressed guilt relating to the shooting._ Rung suspected he knew the reason for his invitation. Rewind wanted him and Swerve to get together and hang out like friends. Swerve still hadn't come to Rung with a real apology for shooting him in the head, yet it was obvious that he felt guilty about it. _He wants to apologize but can't. Or he doesn't know how. Possibly driven by a long-standing fear of rejection._

That didn't explain why they had to hang out in Brainstorm's lab, a place filled with scary guns and weird fizzing sounds. Whenever Swerve touched a weapon, phantom pain signals hit Rung's faceplates. Still, it helped take his mind off of Fortress Maximus and his delicious EM field and burning, intense optics and-

"Uhhh….are you okay?"

Rewind's voice jolted Rung out of another Fort Max fantasy. "Oh, yes. Of course, Rewind. Why do you ask?"

"Um, well, you're kinda fondling that gun there."

Rung looked down to see that he was indeed holding one of the guns and running his fingers along the barrel in a gentle caress. He dropped the weapon with a mortified squeak.

Brainstorm laughed. "Hey, don't be embarrassed. One of these could make anyone want to fire off a few rounds, even a non-combatant like you." He said "non-combatant" like it was a dirty word. 

Before Rung could defend himself, there was a knock at the door. Perceptor entered carrying some sort of blackened bowl. He was frowning, electrical field sparking with just the barest hint of annoyance. For Perceptor this was equivalent to a full-blown tantrum. Interested, Rung activated his psychological profile software. 

"Brainstorm, have you seen my quantum particle analyzer?"

"Oh yeah. It's right here."

"I've asked you many times not to take my things without permission."

Brainstorm tossed the analyzer to Perceptor and hiked up his wings, haughty and defensive. "It's not like you were using it on anything important. Do you have any idea what I'm working on in here?"

Perceptor looked around the room with profound disinterest. "No. I don't." He turned to leave, only to find his escape blocked by Brainstorm. 

"You don't, but you want to. Admit it. There's fascinating stuff going on in here. Stuff that would blow your mind."

"I'm sure there is. Now if you'll excuse me." Perceptor tried to move around Brainstorm. Yet for every step he took, Brainstorm stepped in front of him, babbling about his great inventions and superior lab work. Soon it looked like they were dancing, with Perceptor awkwardly shuffling from side to side and Brainstorm bouncing in his way.

"This is just pathetic," whispered Rewind.

"I know," said Swerve. "I can't watch this." He raised his voice and called out, "Yo, Ship's Genius, watcha got there?"

"Oh this?" Brainstorm held up a gun. "I call this one the Processor Pincher. It-"

"Not you," said Swerve, pointing to Perceptor. "You. What's that in your hand?"

"Just something I'm working on," said Perceptor, oblivious to the look of wounded horror in Brainstorm's optics at the nickname correction. "And I really need to get back to it so if you please…"

Brainstorm snatched the object out of Perceptor's hand and started waving it around. "This? You guys don't know what this is? This, my friends, is the whole reason we're out here." He scuttled towards the others.

"Be careful with that!" Perceptor's voice rose as a dark look crossed his faceplates. 

Seeing Perceptor stalk across the room, Rung remembered that the scientist was also an ex-Wrecker, and could probably kill Brainstorm with a flick of the wrist. Hoping to diffuse the growing tension, Rung laid a soft hand on Brainstorm's arm and put out the most soothing pulses he could. "May I see it?" 

Brainstorm gave him the object. Rung turned it over in his hands, admiring the smooth construction. The outside was black and shiny. The inside, the concave part of the bowl, was also black but with tiny pinpoints of light dotting the surface. In the middle was a small red X.

A strange feeling came over Rung, a resonant buzz throughout his whole body. The object seemed to radiate an otherworldly power, one that pressed back into his fingers as he held it. It felt solid but…not. As if it existed in multiple states simultaneously. Untouchable, gaseous electricity made impossible form.

Rewind's visor flashed. The red light came on his shoulder. "Is that it? Is that really it? Holy Primus." He looked up at Chromedome. "Look, Domey. Not like you remembered it, huh?"

Chromedome shook his head, amazed. "No, not like I remember it at all."

Rung continued to run his fingers over the wondrous object. There was something both calming and frightening about it. The little red X glowed brighter and brighter. "What is it?"

"It's the Matrix," said Rewind, voice dripping with reverence. "Did you know, that Optimus Prime stopped the D-Void and saved Vector Sigma by opening the Matrix? That's what rebooted Cybertron, right before we left. I can't _believe_ there's no footage of that. Such a shame."

"The Matrix. Oh my. But why does it look like this?"

"It broke in half. Optimus gave half to Bumblebee, half to Rodimus. Don't you see?" Rewind grabbed his arm. "It's a map. The Matrix itself is guiding us.”

"How do you know all that?" asked Perceptor. "Not all of that information was made public."

Chromedome scoffed. "How does he know everything?"

"Incredible." Rung handed the Matrix back to Perceptor with the utmost gentleness. "So then, that little red X is where we're going?"

Perceptor gave him a suspicious, sidelong look. "What little red X?"

"The one in the middle of the map." 

Brainstorm and Perceptor looked at each other, then at Rung. They continued the pattern two more times until Perceptor thrust the Matrix back into Rung's hands. "Where? Show me."

"Right there," said Rung. "Right in the middle. See?"

"I…I don't see it," said Chromedome.

Rewind shook his head. "Me neither. You sure your optics are functioning properly?"

"None of you see it?" Perceptor took the Matrix away and held it to his chest. He said nothing, waiting as the seconds ticked by, watching them until the silence became too much for Swerve.

"Uhhh…so…yeah. That's a map? It doesn't look like a map. You know what it looks like-"

"How about now?" Perceptor interrupted. "You still don't think you saw it?"

"No," said Rewind. "Well...I don't think so?"

"Huh. That’s weird," said Chromedome. "I know I said I didn't see it, but now I'm not so sure what I just saw. Does that make sense?"

“No,” said Swerve.

Perceptor fixed Rung with an intense stare. "And you?"

"I saw a little red X," said Rung, exasperated. "It was clearly there. Next to a cluster of three dots. I can't believe you all aren't seeing this."

"Impossible," said Perceptor. He looked about as shocked as Rung had ever seen him, mouth hanging open and shaking his head. "That's impossible. This map is protected by a harmonic oscillator that generates a string where S=∫dτdσ[(∂Xν∂τ)2−(∂Xν∂σ)2. This causes \int d^{n}\xi \, \mathcal{L} = \int d^{n}\xi \, P(G_{ab}) = \int d^{n}\xi \, \frac{\partial X^{\mu}}{\partial xi^{a}}\frac{\partial X^{\nu}}{\partial \xi^{b}}G_{\mu\nu}. Furthermore, if V(x) = 0 for -L/2 then we can surmise that…" 

He droned on, not seeming to care that everyone was staring at him with confused, lost expressions. Except for Brainstorm, who clutched his hands together and sighed like he was hearing a naughty love poem.

Rung didn't even try to understand. Instead he just listened and thought, _and here we get to the crux of Perceptor's social problems._

"Okay, so what’s that all mean in Neocybex?" asked Swerve when Perceptor finally finished.

"What he means," said Brainstorm. "Is that the map is copy protected. You can't save an image of it, you can't even really remember it after you look away."

"Hey, wait a minute," said Swerve. "We're following a map you can't read?" He clapped and grinned. "Primus, I love this quest."

Perceptor took Rung's hand, then immediately dropped it as if he had crossed a line. "Would you come with me please? I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Rung. It's Rung. We've met before."

"My apologies. I need you to come with me."

And then he really did take Rung's hand, pulling him out of the room with a gentle pressure. Rung followed, mind reeling at the thought that _he_ could read the unreadable Matrix map.

_There must be some mistake_ , he thought as he followed Perceptor out the door.

 

 

Later that day, Rung sat in his office waiting for his session with Fortress Maximus to begin. Up to now he'd been able to distract himself with thoughts of his strange morning with Perceptor, and all the questions the scientist had asked about what he saw on the map. Yet as the time for Max's appointment approached, Rung grew more and more nervous. He fiddled with his datapads, trying not to stare at the door.

His tanks churned at the thought of Max, but the more he tried to distract himself, the more his mind conjured ghostly sensations. The pleasantly audible whirring of internal components, the prickle of a powerful electrical force. The way Max held his hand during that last session. Rung shivered. That had been completely inappropriate, even if he had wanted to give his patient a real connection, something good and positive. Show him that touch didn't have to end in pain. 

Touch. A dangerous line of thought. He started going through his notes again. _I wonder what the color scheme of his interface panel looks like._

Rung dropped the datapad. Now that was a _very_ dangerous line of thought. He had to admit, the whole "remain uncompromised" promise was getting off to a bad start. Easy to make when Max was gone, harder to keep at the thought of having the object of his desires right in front of him.

Before he could berate himself further, there was a thunderous knock at the door. Rung called for them to enter and in walked Ultra Magnus and, he was pleased to see, an uncuffed Fortress Maximus.

Ultra Magnus left without a word. Max moved to sit on the couch.

"Hey."

"Hey," said Rung. "How are you feeling today?"

"Okay."

The whole room seemed to shake when Max sat down, model ships trembled on the shelves. 

"Anything you'd like to talk about today?"

"Not really. Why are you sitting over there?"

Rung was still seated behind his desk, a weak attempt to put some distance between them. "Oh, um. I was just finishing up some notes." 

"Could you sit there?" Max pointed to the chair next to the couch, the one Rung usually occupied during their sessions. "Sorry, it's just….way too formal with you behind the desk."

Rung smiled and prayed Max couldn't sense the spike in his core temperature. So much for putting a little space between them. "Of course, Max." He moved from the desk and sat next to his patient, noting how Max failed to make optic contact.

"So," said Max, examining his fingers.

"Yes?"

Max lifted his head and gifted Rung with a brilliant smile, warm and wide and almost shy. Like he was embarrassed by a naughty little secret, one he enjoyed nonetheless.

In that moment, Rung could have sworn that his spark was about to shrink and collapse. He had never seen such a mischievous look on Max's normally dour face. It looked good on him. Really good. Rung's internal components fluttered, all the way down to his T-cog.

"Your book….."

"Oh, you're still reading it?" said Rung. "Anything stand out for you?" _Good. This is good._ Psychology talk. _This_ was the direction the session should take.

"Lotta talk about interfacing in it. I doubt Ultra Magnus would've let me have it had he realized it was so….dirty." Max's smile grew even wider. "Wouldn't have thought that of you, Doc."

_Bad. This is very, very bad._ Of course there was talk of interfacing in his book. Whole chapters. He should have considered that. _Oh Primus help me, he finally opens up a little and it's about interfacing?_

"Well," Rung synthesized an awkward, throat-clearing sound. "It's not dirty, Max. It's natural. Interfacing is part of life and the psyche. I don't believe it should be ignored, and it's certainly not something to be embarrassed about." Hopefully that last part sounded natural, as he was beyond mortified.

"Wow, a reaction." Max playfully tapped Rung on the shoulder. "I'm just teasing, you know."

Even a gentle push from Fortress Maximus had some force behind it, almost pushing Rung out of his seat. Max caught him by the arm and guided him onto the couch, so they were sitting side by side.

"One thing I kinda don't get," said Max. "What is…I don't even know how to say it…it's that union of opposites thing."

"Syzygy," said Rung. "The connection of two mechs without the loss of identity."

"Yeah, that."

"For a Cybertronian, the conscious mind is identified with their own physical body. This is why an upgrade or a frame change can be so traumatic for some mechs, even if they wanted it. It necessitates a change in their identity, which upsets the conscious mind."

Max was giving him an unsettling look, both curious and intense. "Go on."

"If the consciousness identifies with the body, then the unconscious mind will be experienced as being outside of the body."

"This part is confusing. What does that have to do with interfacing?"

"Max, have you ever wondered why we're driven to interface? We're not organics. We don't need to connect bodily for procreation. Yet a Cybetronian desire to interface can be just as strong as an organic 'sex drive'. Why do you suppose that really is?"

"Um…pleasure?"

"Well, yes. That is a factor. But in the course of millions of years of research I came to believe it was something more than that. If the unconscious self is perceived to reside outside of us physically, then perhaps it's something we can access through the connection with another person. The completion of two separate beings connecting as one. This is symbolic of the communication of the conscious and unconscious minds, something we all long for."

Max shook his head. "Damn. That's a lot going on behind the scenes for a simple screw."

"I'm not saying that every time you find an interface partner you're actively thinking about these things. But I believe that, in the base coding of our race, we are compelled to interface for this reason. That's why it feels so perfect, so wonderful, when you connect with someone special."

"Heh," Max looked down at his hands. "Never had that. Never like you’re describing."

Rung couldn't stop the wry smile twisting on his faceplates. "Well, maybe that can be another one of your goals someday."

Max scoffed. "Are you kidding? Look at me. I'm broken, and everyone knows it. Who would ever want me?"

_I would! I would!_ Rung's intakes hitched as he met Max's fierce optics. His voice came out just above a whisper as he stammered, "Lots of people."

When Rung reflected on the incident later, he told himself that he was pulled into Max's lap. That the huge bot tugged him forward. That he didn't make an undignified leap, and he certainly didn't throw himself in a manner most unseemly.

But there he was, perched on Max's lap and looking into a face filled with hesitation…and hunger. He felt the pressure of a hand curling around his side. Small twinges of electrical yearning jumped between them. He wanted to ask Max to stop, wanted to list all the reasons why they shouldn't do this. He put a hand on Max's chassis with the intent of pushing away, but it just stayed there. Defying him. Relishing the feel of smooth armor.

Max moved forward, tilting his head to one side. Slowly, inevitably, Max kissed him. An aching light touch of smooth lip plates that were almost too big, but not quite. They fit just right over Rung's mouth, pressure so fragging perfect. Rung couldn't move, welded to the spot with shock and desire. It was so, so delicious and he knew he had to stop. This was insane. His ventilation systems stalled, spark whirling like it was on fire. 

Max hesitated, lips hovering over Rung's. Waiting for something. Then he kissed Rung again, harder this time. Running a hand down Rung's shivering back, he shifted slightly and grunted, lips growing more demanding.

Rung shuddered. That _sound_. Max's voice. Powerful and rumbling and shaking him to the very core. The last sliver of his self control shattered, and then he was pushing back. Grabbing Max's shoulders and kissing desperately. _Oh Primus…_

Max's hands were everywhere, running all over his body as the charge between them built higher and higher. He licked a strand of lubricant from between Rung's lips and resumed the almost mismatched, awkward kiss that felt like pure relief. 

Clutching at large shoulders, Rung moaned into Max's mouth, kissing with an intensity that frightened him. He wanted, oh how he wanted, everything the other bot had to give. All the lust and pain and confusion and desire. Everything that was Fortress Maximus. Rung wanted it all. Millions of years alive, and nothing had ever felt this _good._

"Rung," Max whispered against his lips. "Primus…Rung…"

"Mmm…don't….just…" He found Max's mouth again and kept kissing, desperate for the spell to remain unbroken. If they talked he would start thinking, and if he started thinking then this spark-breaking, perfect moment would end. And Rung didn't want it to end. Ever. He pressed himself harder against Max, reaching up to finger the horns he had so often fantasized about. They were smooth, and tingled with the same hard-edged, enticing electrical field that was driving Rung crazy.

They kissed for what felt like forever, energon on fire. Every time Max made some small noise of satisfaction, Rung felt like he would crackle and explode. Finally, painfully, there was a knock on the door. Rung jolted. _Ultra Magnus_. Was the session over already?

Pulling himself away from Max hurt more than getting shot in the head. It throbbed, like someone punched him right in the spark. The loss of Max's mighty EM presence brought him to the brink of despair. He barely had time to throw himself back into the other seat before Ultra Magnus was coming through the door. 

Rung noted the way Max sat back on the couch, tense. Trying too hard to look casual. He bounced his left knee, rattling the gun in his leg. Rung's own hands were twisted into a knot. _Oh my but we look guilty._

"Did you give it to him?" asked Ultra Magnus.

A blurt of shocked static escaped from Max's vocalizer. Ultra Magnus shot him a sharp look.

"Excuse me?" said Rung.

"His therapy." Ultra Magnus motioned for Max to stand. "Did you give it to him? Are you done?"

Rung's eyebrows pulled down into their unhappiest V. Apparently Ultra Magnus thought that therapy was something you administered like oil or a coding change. His question also seemed rhetorical, as he cuffed Max and started leading him away before Rung could answer.

"Yes," said Rung. "I believe that's enough for today."

Yet after receiving the fiery look Max shot him, Rung knew it wasn't enough. Not remotely.


	3. Chapter 3

After the rest of his appointments, Rung accepted Skids' invitation for a drink. It was nice to feel a friendly connection with another mech, and Skids was good company. Besides, Rung was desperate for a distraction, anything to take his processor off thoughts of Fortress Maximus.

He had spent the remainder of the day's sessions dreaming about those achingly luscious kisses, about Max's hands all over his body. It felt scandalous, so very wrong to think about doing that with a patient. But in the hours that followed their little make out session, he would have gladly resigned his position just to do it all over again.

Something twisted in his spark, shameful and hot. He had never behaved this way with a patient. Max needed his _help_ , real help to deal with a serious trauma. He didn't need Rung's tongue in his mouth. 

Rung knew he could analyze the situation all he wanted, but the truth was that now he had to do something. Take a stand before the whole thing got even more out of control. The risk of damaging Max was too great. 

He also had to face the painful fact that this was probably a classic case of transference. Max was confused, looking for someone comforting, someone he could rely on psychologically. Someone small and weak who would never hurt him. It's not like he was actually _interested_ in Rung. Even with his damaged reputation, he was still gorgeous, dashing Fortress Maximus. He could have anyone he wanted and when he recovered further, he would see that.

"You okay?" said Skids as they entered Swerve's. "You seem a little...distracted."

"Hmm? Oh yes, I'm fine."

Skids put a hand on the top of Rung's head. "Oohh....you're warm too." He snickered. "What's got you so heated up?"

Rung didn't answer. He didn't dare say anything. Skids was way too good at figuring things out. "Let's go sit over there."

They moved to a table near the end of the bar and ordered their drinks. Swerve's was just starting to pick up for the night. Across the room, Rung could see Chromedome trying to calm a very upset looking Brainstorm. The scientist's hands were gesticulating so wildly that his briefcase flopped all over their table. At another table, Whirl was showing off his newest killer move, the Whirl-a-Copter. From what Rung could tell, this involved spinning his arms and chopper blades in different directions until he fell over. 

"Seriously," said Skids after they watched Whirl drunkenly tumble over a third time. "What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about how everyone in this room needs to make an appointment with me. Yesterday."

Skids chuckled. "Even me, Eyebrows? Please don't tell me I'm in the same category as Whirl."

"I don't think I'm violating doctor patient confidentiality by saying no, Skids, you are not in the same category as Whirl."

"That's reassuring." Skids looked at him again, optics suspicious but mouth playful. "So that's really it? You sit here thinking about how mental everyone is?"

Rung stuck his finger in his drink, twirling the top layer of engex and watching fizzy shapes form and collapse. "Actually, I was thinking...about how complicated relationships can be. How making honest, true connections is hard enough, but then we make it so much harder in our minds."

Skids groaned. "Tell me about it."

"Oh?" Rung perked up, sensing a chance to divert the conversation off of himself. "Something you want to talk about?" He watched Skids’ body language change at the question, arms crossing and leaning away. Closing off. Rung held up a hand. "Not as a therapist, of course. As friends."

Skids relaxed a little. "No, I just agree with you. I can learn how to do almost anything, but I still think that relationships are complicated. Talking, building trust, misunderstandings. And interfacing and....all that other stuff. In theory."

"Stuff?" Rung smiled. "In theory?"

"Yeah, well, I'm a theoretician. That's how I think. I like to look at all angles."

Rung took a long, slow sip of his drink. He could tell where this was going. "Such as?"

"Well, let's just say, in theory of course, that someone has this...thing."

"Thing?"

"Yeah, a thing. You know. Something that really, really turns you on. Way more than it should."

"Like a fetish?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Whirl was at their table. "Fetish, you say?"

"Whirl!" Rung looked at where he could have sworn Whirl was standing just a second ago. Across the room. "How did you-?"

Whirl cackled. "My audiodials are attuned to certain words and phrases. Like fetish, fragging, toughest mech alive, epic badaft. Stuff like that. So...who has a fetish and what is it?"

Skids was doing an admirable job of keeping a straight face, but Rung could imagine his embarrassment. He folded his hands and looked at Whirl, raising his eyebrows in excitement. "We were just talking about literature fetishes. You know, when someone really likes old texts? Why, I was just about to read a passage from my book to Skids. Would you like to listen?"

Whirl cringed back like he just learned that Rung was a Red Rust Virus carrier. "Yeah. No. No thanks. See you losers later."

Rung watched him go. _He resorts to anger, as it's a more empowering emotion than depression or despair. We need to work on using that anger as a springboard to accessing the less destructive emotions._ To Skids he said, "Go on."

Skids' voice dropped to a whisper. "This is all theoretical, of course. But let's say someone has a fetish. Like, oh anything. Like dirty talk." He shifted his optics back and forth. "And let's say you found the perfect mech for it. One that you just _know_ would push all your special buttons."

Rung tried to shut the images of Max's erotic tank treads out of his mind. "And this is a problem?"

"But let's say you and this mech become friends, and you like the friendship. How do you...I mean...you're afraid to ruin the friendship and you're not sure how to ask or even if you're supposed to ask and what if they tell everyone or what if you change your mind and-"

"Skids, Skids. First off, there's a lot of shame around fetishes and there shouldn't be. It sounds to me that such a mech, theoretically, would first and foremost need to clarify to himself what he really wants. Is he looking for a real relationship? Does he just want kinky interfacing? Before he can think about what sort of move he can or should make, he has to be really clear about what he wants the end result to be." 

Rung knew it was good advice, but he couldn't help feeling like a hypocrite. What did he really want out of Max? His profession dictated one thing, but his traitorous spark seemed to want another.

Skids usually carried himself with a confidence that Rung envied. Yet watching his eyes flicker to Swerve behind the bar, and then back to Rung, he seemed so uncertain. "But how do you know what you want, when you don't even know who you are?"

Skids' free hand rested on the table. Rung covered it with his own. "Then I think that's your first step. Finding out who you really are."

"Easier said than done."

"I'm not necessarily referring to your past. I mean the mech you are now. Of course your past helped form that, but your thoughts and feelings belong to you now. You get to say who you are and what you really want in this moment. Not your past. Not anyone." Rung winked at him. "Theoretically, of course."

"Right." Skids nodded. "Theoretically." Then he flashed Rung a genuine smile. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

Rung kept his tone light, but inside he felt like he was falling apart. What did he really want? Honestly, he wanted to help Max. And he couldn't do that if he was also taking advantage of their professional relationship. He couldn't have it both ways.

Help Max, or help his own selfish desires? 

And who was he kidding anyway? This was Fort Max. Former prison warden, warborn, guns in his fragging legs. He'd probably be bored to coolant tears after a few cycles with Rung. 

Rung frowned into his drink. He should stick to what he was good at. Helping people find balance in their lives. He needed to stop this before it got even more out of hand. Even if he really, _really_ didn't want to.

Skids opened his mouth to say something else when they noticed Drift coming across the bar. He eased between cliques and crowds like he was gliding, unencumbered even with the Great Sword on his back. After speaking to Brainstorm and Chromedome, he made a direct line to Rung and Skids' table.

Rung pointed to him. "Is he here for you?"

"Heh, probably."

"Skids," said Drift when he reached their table. "Where have you been? I've been comming you for the last hour."

"I know," said Skids. "And I've been ignoring you for the last hour. And drinking. Gotta say, no regrets."

Drift shook his head. "That's not the team spirit we're trying to create here, Skids."

"Uh huh. What's up?"

"I need you to come to a meeting. Captain's orders. You and..." Drift had the decency to look apologetic. "Ring, is it?"

"Rung."

"Sorry. I'm still learning everyone's names."

Rung had to admit it was hard to be annoyed at someone who always displayed his emotions so genuinely. _Massive guilt. Overcompensation. Identity confusion._

"What’s this about?" asked Skids. 

"It's about the quest," said Drift. "We've had a major breakthrough. Thanks to him." He pointed at Rung. "Now come on, both of you. If we keep Rodimus waiting any longer, he's going to doodle over every surface in Ultra Magnus' office."

Rung couldn't believe it. How could that be? He followed Drift out the door, appreciating the comforting weight of Skids' hand on his shoulder.

 

Rung, Skids, Brainstorm, and Chromedome followed Drift to the main meeting room. It was directly across from the Captain's office, and painted in the same garish colors that adorned every room that Rodimus deemed "official". The blazing red and yellow made Rung's processor spin. 

Rodimus was waiting for them at the head of a large table along with Ultra Magnus, Perceptor, and much to Rung's surprise, Fortress Maximus. Max made the briefest of optic contact with Rung, and then dropped his head. He had a tiny smile on his lips, one that would probably go unnoticed by anyone who wasn't looking for it.

Yet Rung saw it, and his spark practically fell into his heels at the flicker of Max's smile. His treacherous fuel pump started spinning faster again. He forced himself to fix his attention on their Captain.

"See?" said Rodimus to Ultra Magnus, signing his name with a laser scalpel underneath his latest drawing on the desk. 

"I see defacement of public property," said Ultra Magnus. 

"Public property? I'm the Captain. This is my ship. I can draw a turbofox anywhere I want." He flashed a cheeky grin at Ultra Magnus. His second in command did not smile back.

"Being Captain does not give you the right to draw anywhere you want," said Magnus. "According to subsection 25 of the Autobot code-"

Brainstorm interrupted him. "That's a turbofox? Looks more like a deranged minibot."

Skids leaned over. "I say it's an exploded T-cog."

"Wow," said Rodimus. "You two are disturbed. Hey…you…" He snapped his fingers at Rung. "What does it mean when you see a deranged minibot in a picture of what clearly is a turbofox?"

Ultra Magnus didn't give Rung a chance to answer. "It means that everyone is here and it's time to start the meeting."

"Okay. Wait…is this everyone? I wanted Whirl and Cyclonus too."

"Not a good idea," said Ultra Magnus. "We can inform them later, if you still desire."

"Magnus, I'm the Captain. I say what's a good idea."

Rung sat down, noticing that "everyone" comprised of the usual people that Rodimus liked to take on away teams. He held up a hand, hoping to derail another legendary Rodimus versus Magnus argument that would have the rest of them sitting there all cycle. "Why don't you tell us what this is about, Captain?"

Rodimus frowned at him, then proceeded. "Right. Anyway. I called you all here because we have a possible new lead on the Knights of Cybertron. Most of you know that our map is half of the Matrix, given to me by Optimus Prime before he left." 

He said the word "me" like it was the most important term in the galaxy. Rung saw Max roll his optics.

"Unfortunately," Rodimus continued, "we've had some problems reading the map. Perceptor, why don't you explain the situation to the others? Do it in three hundred words, two syllables or less please."

Perceptor didn't answer. Instead he sat with his chin cradled in his hands, staring at Drift like the other mech was a cube of the finest high grade. 

"Uhh…Perceptor, you wanna weigh in here? About the map?" said Rodimus.

"Hmm?" Perceptor kept his optics on Drift. "Oh yes. The map is copy protected, meaning we can't read it, remember it, or make a picture of it. Until today, when someone proved that they could understand it."

Everyone around the table looked at each other, surprised. Even Ultra Magnus.

"I…actually understood that," said Rodimus. "Are you, um, feeling all right, Perceptor?"

Perceptor threw a big, luscious smile at Drift. "Just fine, Rodimus."

Intakes hitched around the room at the sight of a Perceptor smile that was larger than one millimeter. Drift shifted in his seat, growing more and more confused and uncomfortable. Ultra Magnus shared a suspicious glance with Rodimus. Across the table, Brainstorm's EM field vibrated with poorly disguised fury.

 _Wonderful_ , thought Rung. _I think I know what's going on here_. As interesting as this looming social disaster was, he had a personal question that was much more pressing. "Tell me, why can I read the map? Why me?"

"Yeah," said Rodimus. "What's so special about him?"

"Plenty," whispered Max. 

Perceptor reached out and traced a finger along Drift's shoulder. "I have no idea."

Drift watched Perceptor's hand, shock and embarrassment warring on his face. Brainstorm looked like he was about to explode.

"Okaaay," said Rodimus, staring at the two of them as if he wasn't sure whether to try to rescue his third in command. "The point is, he saw a red X on the map. Perceptor figured out that the marking is in the Alnitak system, not far from us. We should be there within a few weeks, and I want you all on the away team."

There were some head nods and murmurs of assent, but everyone was mainly watching Perceptor fondle Drift's shoulder.

"Anyway," said Rodimus. "Be ready." He waved a bored hand at the door. "Dismissed. Except for Magnus and Drift. We need to have an officer's meeting."

"What about him?" Ultra Magnus pointed to Max. "Someone needs to take him back to the brig."

"His therapist can do that. Right?"

"Wrong. His therapist does not have the strength or training to deal with an unstable prisoner."

"He's not unstable," said Rung, faceplates burning at Max's grateful look.

"See?" said Rodimus. "He's not unstable anymore. Besides, he's been working monitor duty for weeks now unchaperoned." He turned to Max. "Can we trust you to walk back to the brig with…um…your therapist, without shooting anyone in the spark?"

Max winced. "Yes."

Ultra Magnus frowned and looked at Rung. "Are you sure you can handle him?"

By some divine miracle of Primus, Rung managed to keep a straight face at Ultra Magnus' embarrassing choice of words. "I can lead him safely to the brig."

"Great," said Rodimus. "Walking Fort Max around isn't the best use of your time, Magnus. Maybe…Rong, is it?"

"Rung."

"Sorry. Maybe you can handle him a little more from now on."

"That would be fine." _Just please stop using the words 'handle' and 'Fort Max' in the same sentence_. Rung rose and followed the others to the door, gently picking Perceptor's fingers off of Drift and leading him out. 

Rodimus clapped his hands together. "Awesome. You've been doing a great job, big guy. Here."

He tossed something to Max, who caught it and turned it over in his massive fingers.

"In honor of your efforts at recovery," said Rodimus. He then made a shooing motion, leaving just the officers at the table as the door closed behind them.

When they were out in the hall, everyone went their own way. Skids left too, after he winked at Rung and gave a long, not so subtle look at Max.

Max didn't notice. He kept examining the object Rodimus had given him, disgust written all over his features. "Is this…did he really just give me a badge with his own face on it?"

Rung smiled. "I'm afraid so. That's the 'Rodimus Star', a merit badge that he's been giving to people for, well, everything."

"A Rodimus Star?"

"Yes."

"I see." Max opened a small panel on the wall, revealing a waste chute that led to the garbage level. He tossed the Rodimus Star inside.

Rung grinned, unable to hold back a wave of affection. "Some people covet those, you know."

"I'm not some people."

"No," said Rung, admiring the way Max's plating shined. "You certainly aren't. Shall we?"

They made their way back to the brig, taking their time and talking in covert whispers about the Matrix map. And if they walked a little too close, fingers and EM fields brushing against each other, no one was the wiser.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next few weeks, Rung discovered that where Fortress Maximus was concerned, despite his best intentions, he was really bad at remaining professional. Stern personal promises crumbled every time they passed in the hallway, his sensory net thrilling at the way Max's hand always brushed against him in quiet acknowledgement. His normal meditation techniques for calming an overactive processor did nothing against the constant fantasies of scaling Max like he was one of the Manganese Mountains. 

And the kissing. Oh Primus, the sweet, delicious kissing that kept _happening_ , and kept getting better and more fervent each time. Making it harder and harder to resist the next opportunity.

Like yesterday, when by sheer chance they both happened to be alone in the elevator on their way to different floors. Before Rung could even say hello, Max was on him. Lifting him up and pressing their lips together as if the fate of the universe depended on it. Rung had kissed him back without hesitation, reveling in the warm, smooth feel of Max's mouth plates. In the heady scent of the huge mech's oil and wax. 

They barely had time to pull apart when the elevator doors had dinged, whooshing open to reveal a smiling Trailcutter. His smile had quickly died at the sight of Fort Max, and he stammered something about catching the next lift before he stepped back and let the doors shut again. This was fine with Rung, as it meant they could desperately kiss for two more agonizingly short floors before they had to separate. 

It hurt, hurt to separate. Hurt to think about how weak he was, how he was taking advantage of a patient. Most of all, it hurt to even think about denying himself Max's touch. _You've made it illicit, you idiot. Of course you're going to want him more than ever now._

Rung had never had this before. Oh sure, he'd interfaced. Had little crushes. But he'd never desired someone like this, body and spark. So out of control. Like every latent piece of programming deep in his core, every gear and servo, came online hard at the sight and smell of Max. 

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that it wasn't just Max either. Rung was experiencing a lot of firsts aboard the _Lost Light_ , something that he wouldn't have thought possible being millions of years old. As embarrassing as it was to admit, he'd never had a real circle of friends before either. Just acquaintances and patients. Friendly of course, but empty. Now he had Skids buying him drinks and Rewind seeking him out for company and Swerve wracked with guilt over hurting him. 

It was strange. Nice. Comforting in a brave new world, one where the war was over, boundaries were constantly shifting, and everyone could power down a little and rediscover themselves. And Rung was discovering that he was worse at resisting temptation than he would have thought. It ate at him, but every time Max's smoldering optics burned into his own, he found that he really didn't have the strength to stop. _What would that hack Froid say about all this?_

"Are we finished?"

Rung's attention snapped back to the present, to Cyclonus brooding in the chair in front of him. 

Ultra Magnus had sent the purple mech to Rung, insisting on a few sessions to assure that he was stable and could function with the crew. Under protest, of course. Cyclonus clearly didn't want to be there, and Rung couldn't help but ruminate on the hypocrisy of Ultra Magnus' approach. He wouldn't hesitate to send a mech to Rung, but went out of his way to avoid sessions himself.

And this had been a particularly unsuccessful visit. Cyclonus was surlier than Max, answering all questions with monosyllabic responses and noncommittal grunts, or with nothing at all. Yet Rung was a master at reading body language, and Cyclonus' rigid back struts and twiddling thumbs told him that there was something else.

"Yes, your time is almost up. I understand this isn't easy for you, Cyclonus. But is there anything else you'd like to talk about? Anything at all?"

Cyclonus just glared at him.

"Please know that anything you say here will be kept completely confidential."

Cyclonus remained silent, and just when it seemed like he wouldn't say anything else, he blurted out, "If I interfaced with Tailgate, would I ever get rid of him?"

Rung almost dropped his datapad. "Umm…excuse me?"

"Do your audiodials work? I said if I interfaced with Tailgate, would I ever get rid of him?"

Rung took a good hard look at Cyclonus. The purple mech was clasping his hands so hard Rung could hear the stress on his finger plating. A sort of sympathy rose within him. Here was another person who obviously felt conflicted over something he wanted.

Brutal honesty was Rung's only way to deal with this. Cyclonus was too smart, too wary and honest, to tolerate any less. So Rung simply said, "No, Cyclonus. If you interfaced with Tailgate, you'd never get rid of him. He would attach himself to you more than he already has, and you'd have to crush him emotionally to get him to leave you alone."

A snarl twisted Cyclonus' faceplates. "As I suspected."

Rung held up a hand. "But wait, Cyclonus, would that really be so bad? To make a real connection with someone? To have someone special that cares about you? Tailgate saved your life after the fight on Temptoria. He reaches out to you, wants to be your friend. He doesn't care about your past and he's not scared off by any evils you say you've done. He truly just likes you."

Cyclonus hung his head, finally demonstrating a sliver of emotion. "I am not who he thinks I am. I cannot give him what he wants."

"But what do you want, Cyclonus?" _And what do you want, Rung? Do you want this connection with Max? Is it real? Could you give up your own professional barriers to let someone into your life?_

"I don't know anymore. What I want."

Rung could relate to that. "Then you need to really think about that and make a decision. But let me tell you this, Cyclonus. This idea among so many of our species that love and caring is a weakness? Mechs live this philosophy on the outside, but after millions of years seeing patients, I can say that very few truly believe it on the inside. Most people are lonely and desperate for a connection. Autobots learn to bury this in bravado. Decepticons learn to bury it in hate and anger. It's not wrong or weak to let love into your life. On the contrary, it's one of the bravest things you can do." _Unless that person is a patient seeing you for PTSD. Then it's totally wrong, even when it feels right. Right?_ He knew, he _believed_ , it was the right thing to say. And here he was thinking Ultra Magnus was the hypocrite. 

Cyclonus nodded once. "I appreciate your honesty."

"And I appreciate yours." Rung chuckled. "Most mechs can't just ask me about this sort of thing. They say they have a 'friend' who has a personal problem, or they disguise it some other way."

A look settled into Cyclonus' faceplates. The look that indicated that everyone else in the universe was a complete moron. "Only a coward would ask a question that way. Who does that?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, I'm afraid." _But pretty much everyone._

"Autobots," grumbled Cyclonus, as though that said it all. He rose to leave.

"I'll see you out." Rung walked him to the door. "Thank you for your time, Cyclonus. Please know that you can come and see me about anything, and it will always remain private."

They entered the waiting room. Rung froze, startled to see Ultra Magnus waiting with Max.

"We're a few minutes early," said Ultra Magnus, putting a solid hand on Max's shoulder. "Apologies. I have a meeting coming up for which I do not want to be late."

Max stiffened, glaring daggers at Cyclonus. He growled something hostile as the other mech walked by. Cyclonus met his optics, showing no signs of fear. 

Ultra Magnus steered Max into Rung's office, stealing an apologetic glance at Rung before he was out the door.

"You're treating _Decepticons_ now?" Max's tone was angry, accusatory. As if he had caught Rung cheating on him.

"Cyclonus isn't-"

"Oh yes, he is. He's a Decepticon and he _cannot_ be trusted."

"Max, technically, there are no factions anymore. The war's over."

"Not for me, it's not. And you know what? Not for them either. They'll start fighting again the second they get the chance. They're dangerous, Rung, especially that one. Do you know what Cyclonus _did_ back when I was in charge of G-9? He's unstable. He could flip out and…..hurt you." Max sank into the couch, burying his head in his hands. "Frag it."

Rung sat next to him, putting a hand on Max's trembling frame. "Maximus-"

Shame and fury swirled around Max. "I'm…no better than a Decepticon, apparently." He synthesized a sad little laugh.

"Actually, Max. It may surprise you to learn this, but you and Cyclonus have some things in common. You're both loyal, noble, honorable. You both prefer to keep to yourselves. You both-"

"Is this supposed to make me feel better? Knowing I have things in common with… _him_?"

Rung knew that "him" meant more than just Cyclonus. "Life has become much more complex, Max. The black and white secular world is gone for us. Once you strip away faction, we're all just mechs trying to get by."

Max covered Rung's hand with his own, looking at him with despondent optics. "But Rung, I _can't_ let it go. I can't. How am I supposed to get over…what they did to me? I should just get over it and forgive the Decepticons? Like nothing every happened?"

Rung leaned his head against Max's arm, letting every joule of his patented cool comfort wash over both of them. "Of course not. If it were that easy, I wouldn't have a job."

"Then what do I do?"

"You live, Max. You live. You work on the goals we talked about, and you work on forgiving and accepting yourself. And maybe, as time goes on, you learn to take Decepticons as you meet them. Learn to evaluate them one at a time."

Max exhaled a petulant vent. "Optimus never said that peace would be so much damn work."

"Nothing good is ever easy."

"This is," Max whispered.

"Hmm?"

"This is." Max tugged Rung into his lap, using the same combination of strength and gentleness that always got Rung's motor running. "You and me. Whatever's…happening between us. This is easy. And it's good." He reclined on the couch, laying his head down on the headrest and pulling Rung higher onto his chest. 

Rung didn't know what to say. He began every session thinking he should talk to Max about how they had to stop, a resolution that collapsed every time. "Max, I-"

Max lifted Rung's hand to his lips, placing a kiss on orange fingers. "I know, I know. You're gonna say that I'm your patient and this is wrong and blah blah. I can see how conflicted you are. But you keep coming back for more." He grinned.

Rung was certain his spark was about to explode. Death by Fort Max smile. What a way to go. He struggled to keep his vocalizer online. "I'm supposed to be helping you." It came out as a plea, an apology. 

Kisses continued to rain down on Rung's fingers. "And you think this isn't helping? You're like, the best thing that's ever happened to me. I have something to look forward to every day. Seeing you. You're the only person I feel comfortable touching." Another kiss, this time on Rung's palm. "You're the only person I can talk to. You're the only one…Primus, I sound pathetic. Is this weirding you out?"

"No," Rung whispered, entranced by the sight of large lips on tiny hands. 

"You're just so relaxing," Max murmured into Rung's hand. "And it's not because you're my therapist or you're some harmless non-combatant. The way you're strong, in a way I've always aspired to be. There's something so special about you, Rung."

Every circuit in Rung's body felt like it was malfunctioning. The therapist part of him was screaming that this was by far the most Max had ever opened up, and not to waste it on personal desires. The normal mech part of him said that it was _because_ of personal desires that Max had opened up in the first place, and why don't you shut the frag up and kiss him before the ship explodes because of some dumb Rodimus decision and you lose your only chance at real, spark-rendering passion in millions of years.

The normal mech part made a far more compelling argument. And before he knew it, he was crawling up Max's chest and kissing him, a gentle press of the lips that turned urgent within seconds.

A low, contented rumble came from Max's engine, vibrating Rung's entire frame. He could feel the comforting weight of Max's hand on his back, pressing them together. His own hands searched everywhere, groping Max's horns and stroking his neck cabling. The space between them grew hotter and hotter. _Oh yes, yes….._

They kissed forever, alternating between tender exploration and desperate desire. Eventually, Max broke the kiss. His hand travelled down his own body. Slowly. Taking his time. Optics never leaving Rung's. Caught between asking permission and presenting a dare. 

Rung couldn't stop the groan that escaped his vocalizer. Should he stop this? Was Max really going to...? 

A soft click of a latch, and then Rung was watching the panel between Max's legs slide open. It retracted to reveal a modern interface array, with three ports and chamber on top that housed his cables. It was painted in a subdued blue and white, Rung's new favorite color scheme.

Max settled his hand on his array. Seeing him like that, reclining and touching himself, Rung was momentarily overwhelmed by a host of error messages coming from his various ethics programs. The programs he had written and installed eons ago, the ones designed as a second conscience. To warn him when his processor was forming too many unprofessional thoughts.

Rung promptly disabled it, along with a host of other programs designed to warn him of impartiality. 

"You like this?" rumbled Max. "You're staring it at like it's a model of the Ark-1."

"Oh yes," said Rung. The charge in him ratcheted up to something almost painful. It seemed so bold, Max's position. The simple touch on his own interface equipment, sensual but not obscene. Rung looked up and down the body of the mech below him, absorbing every detail. Lips parted, energy field vibrating with desire, clean lines and shining colors and those sexy, sexy tank treads sticking out his back. 

And when Max whispered, "Let's see yours", Rung didn't hesitate to unlatch his own panel. He could feel his face heat up with fuel in spite of himself. "I'm afraid it's quite old."

"So you've got some extra cables? Ancient firewalls or something? We can work with that." Max moved his hand to Rung's panel, fingers trembling slightly. "Nice. Heh, I love your color scheme. Nobody's orange like you."

Rung still couldn't wrap his arousal-addled processor around the fact that Max thought _he_ was attractive. This was Fortress Maximus, voted by the Wreckers as "Sexiest Mech Alive" for five hundred years in a row. And here he was, touching Rung in the most intimate of places. Hot for it. Nervous. 

"Max," Rung said. "We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with." He had to give Max a chance to back out of this. Defer to Max's lead, as there was no way he trusted himself to make the right decisions anymore.

"Rung," said Max, meeting his optics with a blazing intensity. "You're the only one I'm comfortable with. I want this." He circled one of Rung's interface ports with his finger, a tingling sizzle running through both of them. "I know this won't fix me. I know you don't want to take advantage of me. But I just need…something…you know…" He grinned and moved his hand to tap the armor on Rung's chest. "You. Syzygy. Your strength. Your power."

Rung couldn't believe his audiodials. "You want _my_ strength and power?"

"And _you_. I want you. Now are you gonna frag me or are we gonna rust to death here?"

Rung laughed and, despite a million reasons not to, reached for Max's cabling. If they were going to do this, if this was really going to happen, he was going to make it good for Max. Rock his fragging world. Because while Rung admittedly didn't get out much, he did have millions of years of interface counseling experience. He knew how to make a mech sob with pleasure. 

The consequences seemed light years away. He could resign as Max's therapist or get him help somewhere else or work through it or something. _Rationalization, consequence avoidance due to…oh, shut up!_

Rung made a show of pulling out one of the cables, reveling in the way Max's entire ventilation system seemed to fritz. He brought it close to his own port. "This is what you want?"

Max's laugh came out as a nervous, impatient stutter. " Rung…please…"

This was it. Ozone and lust and Max's hitching intakes filled the air. Rung brought Max's cable to his port, ready to finally make that connection that they so longed for. He tried to jack Max in, pushed and pushed and-

Stopped. Rung stopped and looked down with frown. He tried again, a dawning dismay filling him. "Oh no no.”

"What? What's the problem?"

Rung unspooled the rest of Max's cables. None of them fit. "You have got to be kidding me." He yanked out his own cables and tried to plug them into Max, but they were practically swimming in Max's large ports. Unable to make a proper connection. "I don't believe this."

Max shook his head, arousal giving way to alarmed confusion. "Rung, what?"

"Oh, Maximus." Rung laid his head on Max's chest, disappointment and embarrassment flooding his frame. This was so unfair. "You're too big, and I'm too small and my equipment is too old."

"Wait…you mean?"

"I mean," said Rung, looking up to stroke Max's beautiful face. "This won't work. We're incompatible."

They lay there clutching each other. Each trying to process their frustration until there was a knock on the door, and they had to scramble to make themselves presentable for Ultra Magnus. Max threw Rung one last, longing look and let himself be led away without a word.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day found Rung sitting in his office, immersed in his own thoughts as he half-listened to Atomizer pour his spark out in a session.

"So then I reminded him that I used to be an interior designer, and that there was no way those colors would go together, even on laser gun that cool. And do you know what he said to me? Get this…"

Rung nodded at the appropriate places, asked "and how did that make you feel" whenever there was a gap in the conversation, but his processor cogitated on how badly he had failed Fortress Maximus. First he couldn't maintain a professional distance, practically throwing himself at Max despite multiple self-promises that he wouldn't. Then he couldn't even get the personal side right. He'd always had his own reasons for not upgrading his frame, but now those reasons felt more like regrets. 

And now this was a big mess. He should resign as Max's therapist, but then what? Continue to give him unofficial advice? Send him to see someone else? (Who that would even be, Rung had no idea). Ask Max to start some sort of relationship, one that would probably never involve interfacing? How long could that realistically last? 

He was stuck. Stuck between duty of care and his own desire. Stuck with a myriad of feelings that he couldn't ignore. Sometimes lust, sometimes just a deep-seated affection that made his spark sing. It was more than just a fleeting crush, he _ached_ for Max on every level. 

It made sense to the psychologist in him. He'd denied this part of himself for so long, repressed the archetype of the lover for that of the caregiver. Always trying to help others, never seeking true intimacy for himself. Now he was unbalanced, a fractured piece of a whole mech. Perhaps it was time to start being a little more selfish. At the very least, he could visit Ratchet and ask about a frame upgrade.

Rung forced himself to smile and nod when Atomizer left his office. As he was checking the rest of his schedule for the day, he received a ping from Rodimus.

"Rodimus to Runge."

_Getting closer._ "Yes, Captain?"

"Perceptor says we're in the vicinity of the marking you saw on the Matrix. Gotta say, though. I'm a little disappointed in your map reading skills. There's nothing here."

Rung tried to keep the impatient edge out of his voice. "I simply reported what I saw, Rodimus. I had no insight on what we would find."

"Yeah, I know that. I wanna take off, but Magnus is insisting we should hang around for a while and scan the area."

"I see. Should I come to the bridge and look at the map again?"

A snicker came over the comm line. "No. That's not why I'm calling. We're all really busy up here, and I need you to do me a favor. I need someone to take Perceptor to the medbay and have him get checked out. And I need it to be discreet."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah. He's just acting really strange around Drift. I wanna make sure there's nothing permanently wrong with his programming."

"Oh dear. I think I know what's happening here. Rodimus, a few weeks ago Brainstorm-"

Rodimus cut him off. "Oh, I know. Brainstorm hit him with some sort of experimental horny gun and now he can't keep his servos off Drift. Brainstorm's working on something to reverse it now, but I still wanna get Perceptor checked out.”

"Okay," said Rung. If he went to the medbay, he could also ask about upgrading his equipment. No harm in asking, right?

"Great. I'm sending him to you now. And listen, mum's the word, okay? Don't tell anyone, not even Perceptor. I don't think he realizes what he's doing."

"I'll keep it quiet. Best to spare as much of his dignity as possible." Rung knew Perceptor was a poised mech. He would be humiliated to discover his own behavior, and the cause of it.

"What? Yeah, that too."

"Captain?"

"Look, just keep it quiet, okay? Perceptor's acting like a love sick pleasurebot, Drift is mortified and turned on at the same time, Ultra Magnus is so annoyed that the memo writing has started, and Brainstorm is going out of his mind trying to fix this and convince the rest of us that he's not jealous." There was another snicker. "What I'm saying is, this is just too funny. Rodimus out."

Rung's eyebrows pulled together. He didn't find it funny at all. It was insensitive and embarrassing, and Perceptor was going to be horrified when he realized what he was doing. With Drift of all mechs. As a former Wrecker psychologist, Rung knew that Perceptor and Drift had been a thing briefly, before Drift had just up and left without much of an explanation. From his one tight-lipped, mandatory session with Perceptor a few years ago, it was clear to Rung that the scientist had never really gotten over it.

Rung wondered if Rodimus would still think this situation was amusing if he knew about their history. Probably.

A knock on the door derailed his thoughts. Rung got up to greet Perceptor in the waiting room. The sniper seemed calm, cool, and collected as always. Nothing like the mech who had gotten in Drift's lap and called him "cute" the other night at Swerve's.

"Rodimus asked me to come get you," said Perceptor. "He wants everyone on the away team to submit to a coding check as a precautionary measure."

_I'll bet he does._ So that's how he did it. The words "precautionary measure" were like energon candy to Perceptor.

Rung beamed at him. "Very well. Let's go then."

The walk to the medbay was filled with the usual Perceptor conversation, which was to say no conversation at all. When not in the presence of Drift, he seemed totally normal. Although Rung was tempted to use the opportunity to get the other mech to open up a little, he stayed silent. One interpersonal fiasco at a time.

When they arrived, First Aid intercepted them at the door. "We know why you're here," he said. "Perceptor, why don't you have a seat over there with Ambulon? He'll check you out."

Rung looked around the medbay. "Is Ratchet here?"

First Aid shook his head. "No. He's in a meeting ripping Brainstorm a new exhaust port. Don't worry though, we're qualified to do this." His lowered his voice. "Can you believe it? What the frag was Brainstorm thinking?"

Rung's shoulders sagged. He was hoping to get a few minutes with Ratchet to talk about upgrade options. Ratchet could be blisteringly up front about things, but he was trustworthy and discreet. First Aid was no doubt a competent medic, but he was a known gossip. Rung also suspected that the friendly medic held some resentment towards him for a past diagnosis.

Yet Rung couldn't wait to have his questions answered. He'd have to tread lightly, as he absolutely refused to dress up his inquiry in standard "I have this friend" disguise that he heard every day of his life.

"First Aid, while I'm here, I'd like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."

First Aid visibly brightened despite the mask, field flaring with concern. "Of course."

"I was wondering, what with the war being over and all, if it was possible for me to get a frame upgrade. It's just been so long, and I feel it's time to start moving into the future."

A lame excuse, but First Aid didn't seem to care. Instead he swept his gaze up and down Rung's frame. "Hmmm. An entire frame upgrade? Well…." He walked around Rung, poking and prodding. "Is it possible? Yes. Is it something we can do here? With the supplies and equipment we have on hand? Unlikely."

"Ratchet rebuilt my head."

"He rebuilt your old design, to match your current body. But a new body on such an old structure would be a massive undertaking. You're talking about a complete systems recalibration and spark transfer. And, no offense, since you're so old, we'd need sophisticated equipment to mesh modern components with ancient programming."

"Megatron's old. He gets a new body every other battle." Rung huffed, fully aware of how petulant he sounded. 

"Yeah, but Megatron's had plenty of upgrades over the eons. He's been able to stay modern in little jumps, rather than in one huge change like it would be for you. Besides, he's a miner. He's built for that sort of thing." First Aid laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Wrung. You can talk to Ratchet too, but I just don't think it's possible."

"What about just a part of me? Like a hand or…" Oh Primus, this was embarrassing. No wonder so few people could ask outright. "…or say my, um, interface equipment."

"Maybe a hand, but your interface equipment? No way. That's tied into your core processor and sensory net. Again, a mech of your design would need a special facility." 

"I see. Thank you for your candor." Rung struggled to keep his body language free of the massive, but not unexpected, disappointment. 

"Can't say I blame you for trying," said First Aid, giving him a friendly jab on the arm. "Skids is _really_ hot."

"What? No! It's not Skids!" Rung lowered his voice. "I'm just asking. It's not for Skids. Or anyone, for that matter." The last thing he needed was First Aid telling everyone on the ship that he was trying to frag Skids.

"Sure, sure," said First Aid. "Actually, change of subject, while you're here I have a question for you too."

Rung could tell where this was going by the way First Aid shuffled and stared at his own pedes.

"It's not for me, though. It's for, um, Ambulon."

"Ambulon," Rung repeated, casting a glance over at the dour medic working on Perceptor.

"Yeah. He asked for my advice and I didn't know what to say to him. It seems that, um, Ambulon is having this kind of naughty affair." First Aid's vocalizer dropped to an awed whisper. "It's with a former Wrecker."

"Oh my," said Rung. "You mean to tell me that Ambulon, who's been an Autobot for just over a decade and could rival Ultra Magnus in the unfriendliness department, is having an affair with an ex-Wrecker?"

First Aid emitted a nervous, static-laced laugh. "Heh, I know. Weird, right? Anyway, he told me he was interested in a little Wrecker role-play, but he wasn't sure if it would be okay to ask his partner something like that. This mech is a little…unpredictable, and I'm not sure if he'd be flattered or insulted by the request."

" _You're_ not sure?"

"Ambulon!" First Aid hastened to correct himself. "Ambulon isn't sure."

"What?" called Ambulon from across the room. 

"Nothing! Nothing, I've got it under control." First Aid turned back to Rung. "Well, what do I tell him to do?"

Rung vented a sigh, fighting the urge to slap his hand to his forehead. First Aid and Wreckers. _Obsessive/compulsive tendencies. Attempted vicarious experience to compensate for insecurities. I stand by my initial diagnosis._

"First Aid, roleplaying can be a great way to spice up interfacing, but it's important that everyone feels comfortable with it. If you know it's something the other person won't like, you should respect their wishes. If you're not sure how they feel, the only way to know is to ask. But let them know that their boundaries are your top concern, and that you'll gladly abide with whatever rules they set down. Also make sure they know that it's absolutely okay to say no, you're just asking."

First Aid slumped a little, as if he were hoping for a more cut and dry answer that involved less awkward conversation.

Rung didn't feel he was violating patient confidentiality to drop a little hint. He leaned over to murmur in First Aid's audiodial. "And you can tell _Ambulon_ , and this is just my conjecture, I think Whirl would be really into it."

Currents of shock and embarrassment flared from First Aid's energy field. "Oh, um, ha ha, okay. Thanks."

The medbay comm system spared them both further mortification, crackling to life with Rodimus' voice.

"Magnus, yeah, I'm getting them now. Well, I will if you'd just shut it for a second. Rodimus to medbay."

"We're here, Captain," said First Aid.

"I need Perceptor and Rung on the bridge immediately."

_Finally._ "Is everything all right?"

"You'll have to come up and see for yourself. Something just…appeared."

"What is it?" said Perceptor.

"An entire fragging planet. Now get up here."

They raced to the bridge, Rung taxing his systems to keep up with Perceptor's long strides.

 

 

The shuttle ride to the mysterious planet was brief but painful. Between Swerve's endless commentary and Whirl's excited "get limbered up and _slag_ I hope there's a fight" calisthenics, it was amazing nobody got shot on the way down.

It was also amazing that the away team happened at all. Ultra Magnus had been firmly against a visit to the planet without further recon, and then he had almost blown a gasket when Rodimus informed him that not only were they going down, but the Captain was going with them and the second in command was staying on the ship. Finally Rodimus made it an order, leaving Magnus with no further options and a frown deeper than the Sonic Canyons.

Rodimus had brought Drift with them, along with Rung, Perceptor, Skids, Whirl, Cyclonus, Fortress Maximus, and Swerve. Despite being the weakest Autobot on the ship and a terrible shot, Swerve ended up on a lot of away teams. Rung suspected it had something to do with Rodimus and free drinks.

Fortress Maximus shifted in his seat, bringing an arm into brief contact with Rung's thigh. A flare of warmth shot through Rung's plating. He cast a hesitant glance at Max, but the huge bot just stared straight ahead. Rung couldn't really blame him. After their humiliating failed interface encounter yesterday, he wasn't surprised if Max couldn't look at him.

When they finally landed, Rodimus practically bowled everyone else over in an attempt to get out the door first. He stepped onto the planet as if he were a hero come to liberate an enslaved world. "Captain Rodimus Prime," he stated, to no one in particular. "Damn, I knew we should have brought Rewind to record this."

The others followed, stepping out and looking around at their new surroundings. Perceptor managed to tear his eyes off of Drift long enough to pull out an instrument and start scanning.

The planet didn't look like much. Rung saw some trees and a lot of bare ground. While he hadn't explored a lot of alien planets, this one seemed nondescript in every way. Organic. Plain flora. No immediate other life signs. He started to walk around the side of the ship when a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Hey," said Max. "Stay where I can see you, okay?" He squeezed Rung's shoulder, a shy smile appearing on his face. 

Rung returned the smile and nodded. He didn't trust himself to do or say anything else.

Rodimus was talking into his comm. "Magnus, we're here. So far nothing interesting." He waited for a beat. "Magnus?"

Rung ventured a little further from the ship, keeping Max in sight. Scanning the horizon, a glint of something bright caught his eye. Metal? He walked closer.

"Magnus, come in."

"It's no use," Perceptor said. "We've lost communications with the ship."

Rung took a few more steps as the object in the distance became visible. Definitely some sort of metal structure. With a design on it. He boosted power to his optics. The design was jagged and…purple. _Oh no._

"Captain?" said Rung.

Rodimus ignored him, continuing to talk to Perceptor. "Well, why? Can we get them back?"

"I'm not sure. Standby."

Rung tapped Rodimus on the arm. "Captain? I think I may know why-"

"Standby?" said Rodimus. "How long's this gonna take? We need to-"

"Rodimus!"

"Agh! What? We're trying to figure out what's going on here."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," said Rung, exasperated. "Perhaps it has something to do with _that_." He pointed at the object in front of the tree line.

Rodimus squinted. "What is that?"

Drift pulled out his sword. "I recognize it. It's a Decepticon ship."

Whirl was by their side instantly, gun ready. "Oh, goody! Just when I thought this was another boring scrapheap."

"Careful," said Rodimus. "Let's check this out. Quietly."


	6. Chapter 6

Quietly, it turned out, involved rushing to the ship with all guns blazing. Rung and Swerve stood behind Fortress Maximus, who seemed more interested in providing a protective wall for the smaller bots than he did in fighting. 

Despite his nervousness over an encounter with Decepticons, Rung couldn't help the flattered thrill that ran down his backstrut. Looking at the hunched and ready form of Max, he vowed that when they got back to the _Lost Light_ , he was going to fix the whole confusing mess. Somehow. Somehow he would fix it. Max deserved that much. They both did.

They went in when Drift sounded the all clear. The ship looked old, covered in dirt and some sort of organic webbing. Once pristine metal surfaces were now brown and rusting with age. 

"The Captain of this vessel is dead," said Cyclonus, entering the hallway. "Stabbed through the spark with a broken piece of the ship. It looks like he's been here for years."

"I'll say," said Rodimus, swiping his finger through the dust. "It's a good thing Magnus didn't come. This place would've driven him insane."

Skids' voice rang out from down the hall. "In here. You guys have _got_ to see this."

They followed Skids' call, entering a much larger room on the port side of the ship. Consoles lined the perimeter, blinking and beeping from every side of the room. Perceptor immediately went to the largest one and started inspecting it.

Yet what caught Rung's attention was the object suspended from the ceiling. A glowing ball with cables connected to it. It pulsed with life, giving off a strange, palpable energy. The energon in Rung's body ran cold. An unusual feeling came over him, inexplicable knowledge and tingling deja vu. There was something so familiar about the object, about the feeling it produced. 

Rodimus cocked his head. "What. Is. That?!?!"

"Unknown," said Perceptor from the consoles. "But it's Cybertronian in origin." 

Everyone looked up at the object, gaping. It was huge, at least as tall as Rung and almost as wide as Max. One of the taller bots could have reached up and touched it, yet at his diminutive height Rung could only gaze in wonder.

"Wow," said Swerve. "I've gotta get one of these for the bar. This thing just screams party." 

"It's so…familiar," said Rung. The feeling of deja vu was overwhelming, almost stifling him.

"Are you okay?" said Max, "Your fans are going crazy."

"I know this," said Rung. "I know this thing. I…." His patella joints buckled, Max's hand the only thing that saved him from crashing to the floor.

"Rung?" 

Rung looked at the ball again. The designs, he could see them now. Rivets and circles within circles, shapes he recognized. To the side of one of the cables was a small port. This shape, he also recognized.

"Max," whispered Rung, clinging to the larger bot. "I know this thing."

"Psst…excuse me."

Max and Rung both jumped at the sound of Drift's voice. The swordsmech had stolen up behind them without a sound.

"I'm sorry," said Drift. "I, um, I know that this is not the time and the energy in here is really bad for a question like this but….I need to ask you something personal and-"

Max whirled on Drift, looming above him with a scowl. "Now? Seriously?"

Drift lowered his voice even further. "It's about Perceptor."

Rung wanted to tell them both it was okay, that maybe they could discuss this later. Yet he couldn't activate his vocalizer, he could only clutch Max's hand and try to process the uncomfortable intimacy he felt over the whole situation. Known shapes and painful memories, feelings of worthlessness battling an uneasy knowledge that he was different for an important reason. 

Fortunately for Rung, he didn't need to do anything. Max broke in with, "Frag, Drift, really? Can't you see that your guilt complex over your Decepticon past prevents you from forming intimate connections with other people? That's why you run when you feel yourself getting too close, better to escape than face the pain of someone discovering who you really are."

"W-what?" Drift looked absolutely appalled, mouth hanging open with a bright pink blush rising all the way to the tops of his finials. 

"My advice?" Max continued. "Even though I'm an epic failure who frags everything up? Don't take advantage of him, wait 'til they fix this, and then just tell him how you feel and that you're sorry you're a slagging idiot. Now stop being such a minibot about it." At the sight of Rung's glare, Max put his free hand on Drift's shoulder and said, "It'll be okay. There, there."

He meant it as a comfort, but on the second "there" Max seemed to push more than bestow a reassuring pat. Rung watched as Drift went stumbling a few feet back, still too shocked from Max's analysis to do anything but sputter.

Finally finding his voice, Rung said, "We'll have to work on your bedside manner, but good insight."

"Yeah, well, there may have…been some projection there." Max looked at the object, speaking more to himself than Rung. "But if Drift can redeem himself, maybe anyone can."

"Everything all right over there?" Skids called from the other side of the room, tearing his optics from the ball to look at them. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," said Max. "This thing is effecting him strangely."

"It's effectin' me strangely too," said Whirl. "Waddya think it does?" He reached up to touch a claw to the ball, just tall enough to do it.

"Whirl, No!" shouted Rung. 

Rung's warning was given the same consideration by Whirl that it always was, so within seconds Whirl’s fingerless hands were molesting the ball. "Feels hollow."

"That was a mistake," said Perceptor. He started tapping at the console in front of him, pausing only to draw one of his own instruments out and regard it with a frown.

The device started to vibrate, seeming to grow brighter and brighter. Whirl yanked his hand away.

There was a bang on the outside hull, followed by a deafening roar. Swerve lept into Skids' arms. "What was that?"

"And what's going on?" Rodimus said. "The short version."

"The short version," said Perceptor, looking at the readings and shaking his head in disbelief. "Is that Whirl activated the device, which is creating a traversable warp in space-time that-"

Rodimus threw up his arms. "Shorter! Shorter than that!"

"This is a time machine, Rodimus. This planet and everything on it is sliding sideways. Away from the ship, away from our own timeline."

 

"More good news," said Skids after returning from investigating the source of the sounds outside the ship. "That banging we're hearing? Some enormous creatures outside trying to get in, presumably to eat us."

"Organic?" asked Whirl.

"Yup. Huge. Scary. Multiple legs. Lotsa teeth."

Whirl cocked his gun, and if was possible to smile with just one's voice, he did. "We shouldn't have a problem here."

The device was still making Rung's processor spin, an uncomfortable charge running through him. Unbidden memory files activated and flashed across his vision, as if he were skipping through time. 

_"After much deliberation we've decided that, since our initial tests came back inconclusive, your function must reside outside the scope of what we normally consider useful. As such, we've invented a new category that reflects your purpose more accurately."_

He saw his experiences with the Functionists as though they were happening all over again. The tests they ran. Cybertron. The humiliation of having to show that old I.D. card. All the unexplained mysteries of his life. Everything flashed before him in an astrosecond, from that weird in-between time after Swerve shot him in the head to Ark after Ark after Ark.

Rung trembled. He felt heated from the inside, like his spark was incinerating his frame. The only thing anchoring him to reality was Max's hand on his arm.

After another resounding bang on the hull, Drift politely suggested that they needed a plan.

"Yeah," said Rodimus. "Here's the plan. Me, Drift, Cyclonus, Skids, Max, and Whirl will stagger ourselves at the entrance and try to fend them off. Perceptor, you stay here and figure out how the _frag_ we get back to our own time." He stopped, as if suddenly noticing Rung and Swerve. "Erm, you two, hang back and help Perceptor. Try not to get shot in the face."

Perceptor looked up from the console. "You must be very careful, Rodimus. We cannot let this device become damaged. If we break it, then we're stuck out of our own time forever." He leered at Drift. "With only each other for company."

Despite the gravity of the situation, a strangled snicker slipped out from Rodimus' vocalizer. "Ahem, okay then. Max, you stay here and guard this thing and the others. You're the last line of defense. Let's go."

The others followed Rodimus, and soon Rung heard the sound of guns blasting and Whirl cackling. 

Swerve looked at the ball again, shielding his eyes from the now burning glow. "Ya know, I wish I had my tools here. That actually looks like it was made from some sort of weird ore. Look at the way it was cut, and how it reflects the light. I've never seen a metal with quite those properties."

"How do you know that?" asked Max.

"Just your friendly ship's metallurgist and bartender."

For Rung, a glance at the device revealed nothing unfamiliar. There was no denying it. That port on the side was a shape he knew very well. "Max, do you know what I turn into?"

"Ummm," said Max, with the sudden guilty look of someone asked to recite something about a loved one that they should know, but didn't. "A, um, a unicycle? Right? Why?"

Swerve laughed. "Oh, you gotta see it. It's…well, it's somethin'."

"Is this really the time for an alt mode discussion?" 

Rung held Max's optics with his own, a sad resignation coming over him. "I'm afraid it is."

He transformed, spinning his T-cog and allowing his body to shift and rearrange. It felt awkward. Rung transformed so infrequently that when he did, it was more like an out of body experience than anything else. Soon he was lying on the floor, unable to move in his second form.

Oh Primus, it was embarrassing to change in front of Max, to show him his weak and silly alt mode. Rung pushed those feelings aside. Nothing else mattered now. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that this was the right thing to do. He was made to interact with the device. He just knew it. Rewind once called him a historical constant, present for major events. After millions of years of existing in the background, it was time to take action.

Time to finally do something to save Fortress Maximus.

Max picked him up, shock written all over his face. He ran a hand down Rung's form. "Okay, well, uh, yeah. Oh, I see. You're a…a...I'm sorry, what are you?" 

Rung tried to ignore the improper thrill that came with Max stroking his alt mode. "I don't know. Nobody does."

"Ask him to show you his I.D. card,” said Swerve in between half-aborted giggles. “Ask 'im."

"Swerve," said Max, grabbing Swerve in one mammoth hand and placing him a few feet away. "Why don't you go help Perceptor?" His tone implied that it was not a suggestion.

"Sure, sure. You guys just have your, um, moment and I'll be over here. Helping Perceptor."

"Do you see the end of me?" said Rung. "Not the round end, but the other end? Doesn't it look like it would fit into the port on that ball up there?"

Max looked at Rung, then up at the device, then back at Rung. "I don't like where this is going."

"I want you to plug me into that thing. Ever since we entered this room, there's been something familiar about it to me. I…I think I've seen something like this before. I think it has something to do with who, or what, I really am."

Max shook his head. "No. No way. That's crazy. We have no idea what that would do."

"Max," whispered Rung. "I'm so, so sorry for the way things happened between us. I just…really liked you and…I felt so conflicted about it. I thought I was doing what was best for you, but I just made a mess of everything."

"Stop," said Max, gripping Rung's alt mode tight. "Stop this."

"Plug me in, Max. I was made for this, I know it. I can help."

Max's voice dropped low. "Is this about the interfacing? Because I don't care, we can work around it. Don't make me do this, Rung. Please." His vocalizer gave a static-laced hitch. "Don't…don't make me kill you a second time."

"You didn't kill me the first time. I survived. I _always_ survive. Strange, isn't it?"

"The universe does seem to accommodate for you," said Perceptor, staring at both of them in fascination. "But I wouldn't recommend this. Without proper testing, we don't know what could occur."

There was a loud boom, and then the whole ship rattled. Screams and alien howls came from outside, along with the sound of gunfire. 

"We don't have time for proper testing! You said so yourself, we're slipping out of time. And if those things get in here, if this device is damaged, we'll never get back."

"Do it, yeah?" said Swerve. "Look, I don't know how, but if he was made to fit in it, then I doubt it'll kill him."

"Maybe this is my function," said Rung. "Maybe I'm some sort of universal key or time lever." Or maybe his function was to die, so the people he’d come to care about could live.

Ribbons of light came from Max's optics. "I…."

"Maximus," said Rung in his best 'I'm the therapist and everything will be okay' inflection, "plug me in."

Rung felt Max's lips touch his body, that deep rumbling voice reaching his audiodials. "You had better survive this. Without your influence, I'm gonna beat up Trailcutter every day and take his engex money."

And then he raised Rung up, reaching to the time machine to plug him in.


	7. Chapter 7

Rung wasn't sure what to expect, other than pain. But it didn't hurt. It didn't feel like much of anything as he clicked firmly into place, hanging off the ball in the middle of the room. There was an electric pop, and a gentle fizz of current ran through him. 

And then he felt it, a shock right to his spark that sent his sensors into dizzying disarray. The world seemed to spin, time taking on a surreal pitch as his very essence was stretched and bent. Voices in the room hung long and low, as though he were hearing them from behind a pane of glass. He felt like he was falling, falling out of time. Moments hung in the air and then crashed into each other, a rhythm beyond life's normal cadence. 

Even without his optics exposed, Rung felt like he could see forever. See the waves of time rolling into the distance. Pulling at his spark, infusing him with energy at once bizarre yet familiar. The world started to dim, as if all of time and space were pouring directly into him. Every time he felt overwhelmed, like he was sure to be swept away, he thought of Fortress Maximus, and found the strength to hold on tighter.

_Am I touching it?_ , thought Rung. _The collective unconscious? Am I inside the force of all life as we know it? That from which the archetypes spring?_

Just when it seemed the experience would truly never end, that he would drift in time for eternity, Rung noticed a dimming of the lights around him. Words started to filter into coherence, until he realized what he was hearing was the sound of his name.

Max's voice. His oft forgotten name always sounded best in Max's voice.

"Rung? Talk to me here. RUNG?"

It took Rung a few seconds to activate his speaking modules. "I'm…I'm okay. What's happening?"

Another voice, cultured and measured. Perceptor's. "Incredible. Your spark is absorbing the energy of the machine and turning it around. Time is curving such that y=1/((1-(v^2/c^2))^1/2 and-"

"So it's working then?" said Swerve.

Perceptor pushed buttons and entered calculations into the console almost as fast as Swerve could talk. "Yes. It's working. Although, admittedly, I'm not sure how. The strength of your spark must be…immeasurable."

"Ya hear that, Rung?" called Swerve. "You've gotta Phase Sixer spark! That kinda makes up for your alt mode being worse than Ambulon's."

Rung sputtered from his position locked into the ball. Pulses of distorted time were still running through him. One moment he was in the room, and the next he was floating elsewhere. His sensors could make out Max standing beneath him, concern written all over the big bot's face.

Reality was starting to feel like firm ground. The room snapped into focus long enough for Rung to make out a roar, then shouting.

"One got past us." Rodimus' voice. "Max, be ready!"

A creature burst into the room, hideous multiple eyes and row upon row of sharp teeth. Swerve yelped and ducked behind Perceptor. "It's a bug."

"Not anymore," said Max, raising his foot up and bringing it back down when the creature rushed at him. Its head exploded under Max's pedes.

The others rushed into the room, Whirl uttering a "not bad" when he saw the destroyed creature.

Skids whipped his head around. "Where's Rung?"

"Up here," called Rung. "We're trying to reverse it."

"And?" Rodimus rushed to Perceptor's side, examining readouts he couldn't possibly understand. 

"Rung's spark energy has reversed the process," said Perceptor. "We're almost back where we started, save one thing. I'm reading a localized time distortion directly underneath the device, as if two timelines were merging into one."

"Wait, wait," said Whirl. "Can we get to the really important question here?" He pointed a claw at Rung. "THAT'S your alt mode!?!" He doubled over with a tinny, metallic laughing sound. "I mean…what _is_ that?" He kept on laughing.

Rung didn't have a chance to answer before Max and Cyclonus, at the same time, bellowed, "Whirl! Shut. Up." The ex-warden and the not-a-Decepticon then looked at each other, horrified to discover they agreed on something. 

"I believe we've returned to our previous location in time," said Perceptor. "But the local distortion is still happening."

"Wonderful," said Rung. "Can I come down now?"

There was a flash beneath him, and Rung's sensors picked up another mech coming into focus below the machine. He gasped, stunned as cold terror ran through his fuel lines.

It was Bludgeon. One of the most twisted and frightening Decepticons in existence. And he was reaching for Rung.

"Fools!" said the Decepticon warrior. Much to Rung's horror, Bludgeon's hand closed around the circular end of his alt mode. A hand that promptly let go, after Bludgeon received a full force punch to the face by Fortress Maximus.

"You," growled Max. "Don't touch him." 

Whether Bludgeon was weakened from his travel through time, or just caught off guard by the power and fury of Max, Rung couldn't tell. Once Max got the drop on the Decepticon, he didn't let up, raining blow after furious blow to Bludgeon's face. Until he was on the ground, struggling to fight back as he spewed energon and oil from his ruined mouth plates.

Max punched him again. "I know the war's over." Another punch. "I know we're supposed to stop fighting." He stomped on Bludgeon's face. Hard. "But I really, _really_ hate Decepticons!"

Rung struggled to get loose from the time machine. "Okay, okay, Max. I think he's down." He couldn't transform, couldn't pull himself out of the device. "Mmphff. Um, a little help here, guys? Guys? Whirl?"

Everyone ignored him in favor of watching, open mouthed, as Max kicked the slag out of Bludgeon. Reminding them that, despite his many public failures, Fortress Maximus was still a total badaft. Reactions ranged from gleeful (Whirl) to moderately-approving-yet-disturbed (everyone else). 

Without a word, Max ripped Bludgeon's arm clean out of the socket and started hitting him with it.

_This just isn't healthy_ , thought Rung. He put everything he had into getting Max's attention, field flaring with calm. "Max! Please! He's had enough."

Max stopped, his ventilation systems audible. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. You're right. Wait." He smacked Bludgeon in the face one last time. "There. Now he's had enough."

"Heh." Swerve's voice curtailed any awkward silence to come. "You really bludgeoned him." At the sight of Max's glare, he held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry. Sorry! Couldn't help myself."

Rodimus chuckled, snapped his fingers, and pointed at Swerve with a megawatt smile. "Good one."

"Help?" Rung hated how pitiful he sounded, but he really didn’t want to be attached to a mysterious time machine anymore. Max reached up to get him, pulling him off with a click. Rung transformed with what he hoped was some modicum of dignity. 

"Hold on," said Perceptor. "The distortion didn't vanish with Bludgeon. It has grown smaller, but something else is about to come through."

"Yesssss," whispered Rodimus.

Whirl wasn't as discrete with his desires. "Oh yes! I hope it's someone really tough like Overlord." He then slapped a stunned and enraged Max on the shoulder and said, "Right! Sorry. Sorry, big guy," in a tone that didn't sound very sorry at all. "Then I hope it's someone, like, totally otherworldly tough like Galvatron." 

"What did you just say?" Cyclonus' voice was low and dangerous.

"Sheesh! When did everybody get so sensitive about their nemesis? Really."

Another flash of light had everyone raising their guns. Rung ducked behind Max, ready for anything. Yet he was stunned to see not another Decepticon materialize into the room, but a towering red bot with a handsome blue helm.

And into their timeline stepped Orion Pax.

 

 

For the first few seconds, the reunion between the former Optimus Prime and his Autobots consisted of nothing but bewildered staring. After an uncomfortably long silence, Rodimus' processor was the first to start working again.

"Optimus!" he shouted, throwing his arms around their former leader.

"Rodimus." Orion hugged him back, fiercely. "I knew you were alive."

He greeted each one of them by name, showing great respect and happiness at seeing them. Even Whirl and Cyclonus. He also got Rung's name right on the first try. Or close. He slurred the sounds a little, like he wasn't entirely sure, but Rung was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. This was a former Prime, after all.

Orion seemed especially taken aback to see Fortress Maximus, placing his hand on Max's shoulder, voice filled with warmth. "Maximus, I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you alive and healthy."

"Optimus," Max ground out, unresponsive to the hand on his shoulder.

"I've given up that name, Max. It's just Orion Pax now."

Perceptor pointed to the consoles in front of him. "Optimus, can you tell us what this device is? How does it work? How are you here?"

"Please, Perceptor, call me Orion Pax. And I believe it's a-"

Swerve, of course, didn't give him a chance to finish his sentence. "Optimus, any word of Cybertron? Blurr? The others?"

"I'm sorry, Swerve. I've had no contact with Cybertron since I left. And it's Orion Pa-"

Everyone started speaking at once, prefacing their questions with "Optimus!". He finally had to give up correcting them, taking a step back and holding a hand up for silence that didn't come. Rung, unnoticed, sidled up to him and tugged on his fingers.

"Annoying when everyone gets your name wrong, isn't it?" said Rung with a small smile.

Orion bent down to his level and whispered, "Yes, it is. How do you deal with it?"

"Years of practice." Rung executed his 'settle down now, it's therapy time' vocal protocols. "Everyone, why don't we let Orion explain how he got here?"

The room fell silent, and Orion explained everything. How he teamed up with Hardhead, Wheelie, and an alien named Garnak after leaving Cybertron. How Bludgeon had freed Jhiaxus, imprisoned on Hardhead's ship. How he believed the orb was a time machine, and after touching it he had started to slide through time, jumping from one timeline to another as he chased after Bludgeon. How the whole planet itself was unmoored, drifting through time due to some experiment of Shockwave's.

“This planet is known as LV-117," said Orion. 

“But how can that be?” said Rodimus. “I’ve been to LV-118, and we’re nowhere near the Lenocinium Velnero system.”

"Rodimus, how you managed to find it, I do not know."

Rung felt himself growing uneasy as all heads swiveled towards him. He still didn't know how he stopped the machine, or how he had been able to read the Matrix map in the first place. After a lifetime of always having answers for other people, it was unnerving to have none for himself. 

Swerve scratched his head. "This is confusing. Time travel's confusing."

"Agreed," said Rodimus. "Let's go over this back on the ship. I'm sure Magnus is freaking out right now."

Orion laid a hand on Rodimus' shoulder. "I'm afraid I can't go with you. My team is waiting for me, on this planet, somewhere in time. I think I'm a few weeks or months behind you."

"But-"

"This planet is unstable. You need to get back to your ship, taking the exact course and angle you took to get here. Only then will you be able to return to the point in time from where you started."

"And you?"

Underneath the orb, Bludgeon groaned softly but didn't move. "I need to touch this device again, bring Bludgeon and myself back to where we started."

"Hold up," said Max. "If we've been here this long, this whole process can wait a few more minutes." He pointed to Orion. "I deserve some fragging answers."

Orion regarded him, and then nodded. "Yes, Fortress Maximus, I suppose you do."

 

Max and Orion disappeared into another room, wanting privacy for what Rung knew was going to be a very tense discussion. After about thirty minutes of watching Rodimus pace, Orion Pax finally came back. He strode in with the same magnificent presence of Optimus Prime, albeit looking a little worse for wear. There was a scuff on his helm, his beloved faceplate hung slightly askew. He motioned for Rung and Rodimus to follow him.

"I must have a quick word with the two of you before we part ways."

"Orion, are you okay?" asked Rung when the three of them were alone.

Orion touched his bent faceplate. "This? I'm fine. I must have gotten it during the fight with Bludgeon." He pressed his helm to Rodimus'. "I cannot express how happy I am to see you alive, old friend. When I heard you had died, I didn't believe it. To see you like this, such a fine Captain, it fills my spark with pride."

"R-really?"

Rung heard the static hitch in Rodimus' vocalizer. _Projected hero worship due to an inability to accept one's own shortcomings._

"Really," said Orion. "I'm proud of all of you and the noble quest you have undertaken. To work towards the greater peace of the Cybertronian race, this is my greatest hope for all Autobots."

While he may not have been a Prime anymore, the powerful sentiment projected in Orion's deep, booming voice had the intended effect. Rodimus and Rung nodded eagerly, hanging on their former leader's every word.

"I would love to speak of this further, but time is of the essence." Orion reached into his subspace. "I've called you in here because, as two mechs with very distinct jobs on your ship, I have some specialized equipment that I think you both should have."

He pulled out two small boxes and opened one of them, removing what looked like an ordinary adapter of some sort. 

"Um, thanks, Orion. And that is?"

"This," said Orion Pax, turning the shiny piece of metal over in his fingers, "is a triple-layered interface adapter. They were common before the war, but naturally the production dropped after the fighting started. After a while they became more of a novelty, rare but not impossible to find. Here." He handed one of the boxes to Rodimus. "This is strictly professional, of course. Due to the unique nature of both your duties, I thought you should have access to such medical equipment. You never know what might come up as an issue for the crew."

Rung took the other box with shaking hands. _Oh my_. Did this mean what he thought it meant? His spark pulsed with excitement.

"Wait," said Rodimus, "I don't get it."

Orion's face remained completely passive. "Rodimus, these devices allow for energy and data transfer between the interface systems of different frame classes and ages."

Seeing Rodimus’ baffled expression, Rung finally spit out, "They let a big mech interface with a much smaller mech."

"Oh," said Rodimus. Then delightful realization dawned on his face. "Ooooohh! You mean? Hell yeah!" He threw his arms around Orion Pax again. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou."

"Well, yes, freedom to interface is the right of all sentient beings," said Orion. "Each box contains many different sizes, as well as backups. But try not to lose them. Like I said, they're not easy to find. I always carry a few boxes on me…just in case."

Rung forced himself to meet Orion's gaze, aware of the embarrassment flaring through his energy field. "Thank you," he said. "I am truly, truly grateful, Orion. Thank you." Rung's face split into a smile. "Professionally, of course. Good to have something like this, just in case."

"Of course, Rung. My pleasure."

Much to Rung's mortification, Rodimus seemed to have no desire to keep up the wall of polite tact. He looked at Rung and laughed, "You and Skids, huh? I knew it. Totally called that one."

Rung knew he should just let Rodimus believe whatever he wanted to believe, but the thought of their Captain thinking he was always right made Rung's plating itch. So he didn't, couldn't, stop himself from saying, "As if you and Ultra Magnus are some sort of mystery. Textbook opposites attracting. Your behavior only reinforces the obvious. And you're wrong about Skids. Primus, he’s not even that big."

Rodimus let the implication about his own personal life breeze right by. "Not Skids, then who….oh frag, you don't mean?"

_Should have just kept my big vocalizer offline_ , thought Rung.

"Fort Max!? It's Max, isn't it? Wow…that's…damn. Didn't he, like, attack you and take you hostage?" Rodimus tossed that cheeky grin that made mechs either love him or hate him. "Heh, isn't there a psychological name for that?"

Rodimus was thinking of "Shockwave Syndrome", the attraction that occurs after a big, sexy mech takes you hostage, scares the slag out of you, and either roughs you up or performs illegal experiments on you. Developing an attraction to one's captor was more common than one might think for Cybertronians, especially when that captor was Shockwave.

"Regardless of how you use them,” said Orion Pax, “just do it with a pure spark."

Rodimus stared off into the distance as he subspaced the box. "Pure spark. Gotcha. Hey, do you guys think that I could convince Magnus to let me send a voltaic pulse to his equilibrium chip and then disable his secondary safety protocols for the pleasure center in his processor, while we're fragging?"

The question finally got a reaction from Orion Pax. He started, optics widening with a click. "Oh my. That's…naughty." Then he stroked his chin in a thoughtful manner. "No."

"Really? You sure?"

Orion shook his head. "Magnus? No way."

In that moment, of all the billions of moments that had passed during his lifetime, Rung saw an opportunity to take something for himself. Something he really, really wanted. _I'm tired of this. Tired of waiting and longing._ "I could tell you how to do it."

"Seriously? 'Cause I really wanna stick it to his command module but this IS Magnus we're talking about and-"

"Everyone has their weaknesses," said Rung. "I would never tell you how to make someone do something they didn't want to, or how to take advantage of someone. But, knowing Magnus' psychology, I think he could be into it. You'd just need to give him the right…push. The right incentive."

Rodimus grabbed Rung's shoulders and shook the therapist until his helm rattled. "How? Tell me! How do I get Magnus to do the pervy stuff?"

"Easy, Rodimus." Orion stepped up to separate them. He then turned to Rung. "But seriously, how does he do it? This I want to hear."

“I'm afraid it will take some time and some lessons," said Rung. "I can teach you over the course of a few weeks. But I want something in return."

"Name it," said Rodimus. "Anything. I'll promote you over Drift, if that's what you want."

Rung fixed him with his most confident stare. "I want Fortress Maximus out of the brig. Permanently."

"Yeeeah," said Rodimus, putting a hand on his neck. "That's not gonna be so easy to clear with Magnus."

"X-rated frag fantasies will be much harder to clear with Magnus. I want Fort Max out of the brig or no deal."

"You're more dangerous than I thought." Rodimus stuck out his hand. "Deal. But no violence. If he attacks someone, he's going right back in. Except for Whirl. He can hit Whirl once a week. Non-fatally."

Rung shook his hand. "Deal."

Orion put a hand on both their shoulders. "I'm afraid it's almost time for me to go."

"Are you sure you don't want to join us?" asked Rodimus.

Orion shook his head. "I cannot, but I believe we'll be meeting again soon. Dark plans have been set to action, and I need to find out what they are. I also cannot leave Hardhead, Wheelie, and Garnak. They're still waiting for me somewhere, and I think the planet will bring me back to them."

Rodimus hugged him again. "Thank you. For everything."

Orion hugged him back. "My pleasure, Rodimus. I just need one more moment alone with Rung."

Rodimus gave Orion one last, admiring look and went to the door.

"Oh, and Rodimus?" called out Orion Pax. "Please be good to Ultra Magnus. He's a caring mech, deep down. More than meets the eye, you could say." And then he murmured something so low, Rung's audiodials couldn't catch it. It sounded almost like "hope he likes green", but Rung couldn't be sure.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Rung, I don't have much time so I'll make this quick. I've always had great respect for the work you do."

"Thank you, Orion." Rung's spark skipped at the compliment. 

"This is an exciting new time for our species. One where many of us are free to finally reinvent ourselves. I was hoping, with that in mind, to get some quick advice from you."

"Of course, Orion. It would be my honor to-"

Orion Pax waved his hands in front of his chassis. "It's not for me, mind you. It's for a…friend of mine."

"Uh huh. A friend." _Oh Primus, here we go._

And although what followed were some of the most disturbingly kinky questions about interfacing that Rung had ever heard, he still joined everyone at Swerve's later in the unanimous agreement that Orion Pax was really cool.


	8. Chapter 8

Rung finished his drink and listened to his crewmates tell everyone at Swerve's about their adventure on the mysterious planet. It was a choppy, piecemeal story, full of embellishments and people excitedly interrupting each other. Rung just sat quietly, content to let Skids and Whirl do most of the talking.

Rewind recorded the recitation, bemoaning the entire time that he had missed it. His disappointment was eclipsed only by Tailgate's.

"I missed Orion Pax!?! THE Orion Pax? Awwww…."

Tailgate sat next to Cyclonus, a micron closer than he normally did. It wasn't much, but Rung noticed. What was really amazing was that Cyclonus was there at all. When Rung stood to leave, the purple flyer inclined his head at him. The barest of nods, but an acknowledgement nonetheless. 

"You leavin'?" said Swerve. "Lemme walk you out."

Swerve walked him to the door, wringing his hands the entire time. As they were about the part ways, he grabbed Rung's arm. The expression on his faceplates was the most genuine Rung had ever seen on the mouthy bot.

"Look, Rung. I…I know I haven't said it yet but I'm sorry, yeah? It was an accident and I'm so, so sorry. I told Rodimus I was a bad shot. I didn't want to do it but he kept insisting and I was nervous and-" He met Rung's optics. "I'm really sorry."

Rung took Swerve's hands in his own, energy signature calm and steady. "Swerve, I know it was an accident and I know you're sorry. I'm eager for us both to move past this incident. I forgive you." It was easy to say. If he could forgive Max, he could forgive Swerve. "Just…please don't shoot a gun in my direction."

Swerve threw himself into Rung's arms, one of the few bots on the ship that couldn't crush him with a hug. "Yeah, yeah, okay. No guns in your direction. Gotcha." He gripped Rung harder. "Thank you." Then he abruptly let Rung go, stepping back but not before Rung could sense his embarrassment. "It means a lot to me. Nobody really likes me, you know?”

"Swerve," said Rung, purposely letting his gaze linger on an approaching Skids. "I happen to know some people like you quite a lot."

Swerve followed his gaze. "R-really?"

"Oh yes. Excuse me, Swerve." He walked towards Skids.

"Leavin' the party already, Eyebrows?" said Skids when Rung caught up to him. "I thought I could hit a couple of empty cubes around with your alt mode."

Rung laughed. "I'm sure you'll make do with your grappling hook."

"Hey, I just wanna say, I'm really happy for you." He leaned in, placing his lips next to Rung's audiodials. "But if he hurts you again, I'll take him apart. Guns in his fragging legs or not."

A hot energon blush spread across Rung's face. "Thank you, Skids." No sense in denying it. Skids was bound to figure it out eventually. "And may I just say, I think you should go for it."

Skids' optics flickered once to Swerve, back standing behind the bar. "Yeah, you think?"

"I theorize your probability of success is close to one hundred percent." With that, Rung patted Skids on the arm and walked out the door.

As he made his way down the hall and to his quarters, Rung ruminated on the day's events. It was crazy to think that just a few weeks ago, he was quietly lusting after Fortress Maximus. Deep in denial and overflowing with insecurity. Faced with the possibility of dying, one's center moved from the ego to the self. Granting new perspective. Clarifying what was really important in life. Allowing Rung to see what he really wanted. Max. Body and spark. 

He'd developed feelings for a patient. One of the most complex, attractive patients he'd ever had. And, Rung realized, maybe that was okay. Maybe the beginning of their story together, as violent and inappropriate as it was, was destined to turn into something else.

Whatever happened, he knew that he couldn't be Max's therapist anymore. It had been absurd to think otherwise. Maybe that was okay too.

Right before he reached his quarters, Rung saw Perceptor coming down the hallway.

"Ah, Doctor," said Perceptor, ever formal. "I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable, but I was truly fascinated by your alt mode today."

"Oh," said Rung. That was a sentence he'd never heard before. 

"Would you be willing to allow me to run some tests on you?"

The thought brought back unpleasant memories. "I'd have to think about it, Perceptor. I may have had my fill of alt mode tests with the Functionists."

Perceptor frowned. "Of course. How insensitive of me not to think of that. I assure you, it would be done with the utmost care and privacy. My interest is purely scientific. But please accept my apologies if the topic has upset you."

Rung blinked. "T-thank you. I really will think about it." That was another new experience. No one had ever shown that much concern for testing his alt mode before. He looked up at Perceptor, the scientist's expression grave and serious as always. Rung's spark went out to him. The poor mech was so misunderstood. Rung was tired of watching misunderstood mechs be swept aside and disregarded.

And it wasn't as if he had any confidentiality conflicts with Perceptor's problem. So he didn't feel guilty when he blurted out, "I don't know if you're aware, but Brainstorm accidentally hit you with some sort of, um, lust gun. You've been openly hitting on Drift for weeks now. Did you realize that?"

Okay, so "accidentally" wasn't the total truth, but Rung didn't want to cause too much of a stir.

Shock and horror rolled off Perceptor, from his widened optics to his dropped jaw to the wild flurry of his EM pulses. "E-excuse me?"

"You might want to try examining and fixing your own programming. Brainstorm obviously isn't having much luck. Let me know if you want to book an appointment to deal with any emotions that this has dredged up." Rung shot Perceptor a sly smile. "But don't be too angry. From his reaction, it's clear to me that Drift still harbors deep feelings for you."

He eased by Perceptor, leaving the scientist shocked and appalled in the middle of the hallway. Perhaps he was too blunt, but Perceptor deserved to know the truth.

And Rung deserved a night off. He pressed the button to open the door on his quarters, surprised to find he had left the lights on. What was even more surprising was the person lying on his berth, semi-curled in an awkward attempt to fit. The object of all Rung's confused affections over the last few weeks. A grinning, somewhat guilty looking Fortress Maximus.

 

Max smirked at him, pointing to a picture on Rung's desk. "Thunderclash fan, eh? Should I be jealous?"

"Max? What are you doing here? If Ultra Magnus catches you out of the brig-"

"Ultra Magnus _let_ me out of the brig. Said I had earned full release on a trial period. Heh, he seemed really irritated by the whole thing."

_So Rodimus kept his word then. And quickly too. Amazing what that mech can accomplish when properly motivated._ Rung sat on the edge of the berth, the tiny square of space not taken up by Max. "So you came here?"

"Well, I, you know…" Max stretched and put his arms behind his head, yet the nervous look on his face ruined any attempts to seem casual. "I'm a homeless bot, so I thought I'd come visit you." He sat up quickly. "But I can go. I'm not trying to push myself on you or move in or anything or-"

"It's fine, Max. It's fine. I'm happy to see you here."

Max visibly relaxed. "Good. Now learn to lock your door." He reached for Rung's hand and gently tugged, urging him forward rather than just pulling. Asking for permission, giving Rung the chance to back out. 

_Everything's different now_ , thought Rung as he climbed into Max's lap. His vents hitched as he looked into that beautiful face. The face that had inspired so much confusion, so much fear and lust and tenderness and discomfort over the past few months. "Maximus, we have to talk."

"Uh oh."

"First, I need to sincerely apologize for my very unprofessional behavior as of late. For a doctor to do the…things we've been doing, with his patient." Rung shook his head. "Reprehensible."

"Yeah, it's been horrible. All the hot kissing and groping and feeling wanted."

"Regardless of how it felt, it was wrong."

"You just couldn't resist me. Don't beat yourself up."

"Max, I can no longer be your therapist."

Jaw dropped and optics round, Max looked like he had just been punched in the chassis by the entire DJD. "Oh." He dropped his gaze. "I see."

"But I…I was hoping…I was hoping that I could occupy a different position in your life. Personal, rather than professional."

Max vented, long and slow. His hand trembled around Rung's. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before finding his vocalizer. "I want that too," he whispered. "But…you deserve better and-"

"I deserve to not be lonely anymore. I deserve the other half of my spark." He looked up into Max's blazing red optics. "I think that's you."

Max cupped the side of Rung's face in his massive hand. 

"What I propose wouldn't be easy. I could still help you deal with any panic attacks or flashbacks. In an unofficial capacity of course. Not as your therapist, but as…" Rung broke off, uncertain. It was now or never, and he was tired of dancing around the issue. Of burying his own feelings. For him, it wasn't even that life was too short. Rather it was too long to be so lonely. Surrounded by friends on the _Lost Light_ , Rung finally understood that. Yet to leave himself vulnerable, to really put himself out there, seemed like the scariest thing he'd ever done.

All of Max's systems appeared to have ground to a halt. He wasn't even ventilating. "As what?"

"As someone who's falling in love with you."

Max emitted what sounded like a strangled gasp, and swept Rung into a fierce hug, clutching him almost hard enough to break. Shaking. His vocalizer fritzed out as he tried to respond.

"Shhh…it's okay." Rung brushed Max's face. "Don't say anything."

Max nodded, unable to speak.

"You're not broken," Rung said. "I like you the way you are. Would you have me, Max? A small, weak bot that's socially awkward and has a lame alt mode?"

Max hugged him even tighter. "Yes. Yes, I'd have you any way you want. And I think your alt mode turned out to be pretty damn useful."

"Even if we could never interface?" Rung couldn't help but ask the question. 

"We can work it out," murmured Max. "Maybe Ratchet can do something to downgrade my equipment or…something. It doesn't matter, Rung, really. I just want you."

Joy raced through Rung's every circuit. "Wonderful. That makes me so happy."

They locked optics, staring at each other as they exchanged shy, gentle touches. Rung's systems started heating up. Primus, he had no control over himself when it came to Max. And now, now he didn't have to.

The thought thrilled him. He pressed his lips to Max's with the lightest touch. The kiss was soft, gentle with a lifetime of promises behind it. It sent a slow sizzle to Rung's every component. Max placed his hand on the back of Rung's head and deepened the kiss. He grunted, reclining against the wall to pull Rung even closer. 

Everything about Max was delicious. The feel of his hot chassis, the taste of his mouth. Like oil and lubricant and something so very Fortress Maximus. Dark and dangerous and sweet all at once. Rung whined as the kiss grew hungrier. His base programming pinged his processor, desiring a connection. Aching for them to be one. 

Max finally pulled away with a groan. "Yeah, okay, we definitely gotta figure out this interfacing thing."

Rung reached into his subspace with nervous hands. This was it. He was thinking of saving Orion's gift for another time, but if Max was really into it, maybe now was the moment. And Rung was only Cybertronian, his already weak ability to resist Max was crumbling further with every heated touch.

He pulled out the box Orion gave him, opened it, and took out one of the adapters. Rung twirled it in his fingers like it was a magical item of great importance. Which, he supposed, it was.

"Do you know what this is?"

"Ummm, no?"

"That would make sense," said Rung. "You were born during the war." He grinned. "I'm assuming this means you've never interfaced with a bot much smaller than you before."

"Well no, but I'm no virgin, if that's what you're asking."

"Orion Pax gave me these." Rung held up the adapter, watching it reflect the light of the room. Such a tiny little nondescript device. "Right after he met with you." He shot Max a sidelong glance. "He looked a little beat up."

Max cringed. "I, um, yeah. Things might have gotten a little heated. I might have slapped him."

"Slapped?"

"Okay, punched. Twice. Maybe four times, but no more than that."

Rung waved his finger in a chiding motion. "Max, punching a former Matrix holder?"

"Hey, I was fragged off!"

"Did you feel better after you hit him?"

Max hung his head. "No."

"Did he fight back?"

"No, he just took it. Then he got up and, like, gave me this weird hug and tried to explain the situation the Autobots were in at that time and how much he deeply regretted what happened to me. I…I believed that much. That he was sorry."

"Did you tell him about us?"

Max cringed even further, as if he could somehow make himself invisible. Hard to do when one was essentially a giant tank. "No! Well, I….yeah, but he was being so reassuring and he's still so commanding and, you know, he's a big bot too so I thought maybe…maybe he would know what to do in a situation like ours and…ugh, I'm so sorry. I wasn't trying to gossip. It just, kinda, all started coming out and-"

"Max, stop." Rung held up a hand. "It's fine. Really. Of course you're allowed to seek advice from friends. And don't apologize. I was just wondering, as he gave me these."

"What is that thing, anyway?"

"This," said Rung, thrusting the small piece of metal in front of Max's face. "This is an interface adapter. It allows the cables and ports to connect on bots with a large size difference."

"They _make_ those!?!"

"Apparently so, before the war."

Max took the adapter from Rung, the device looking comically small in his hands. He stared at it in wonder, and then cast Rung a glance. A question, the meaning conveyed entirely through one sly look.

"Would you, um, like to try it?" asked Rung.

Max nodded. He broke optic contact, his face flushing hot. Complex charges raced across his energy field. Arousal, curiosity, and more than a little apprehension.

Rung took the device back with a confidence that he didn't feel. He opened the interface panel between his legs, and now it was his turn to blush. He wasn't normally one to just boldly whip open his panel, but he knew what Max needed. Max needed for Rung to be in charge, to create a safe place for this to happen.

"At any point, if you want to stop, just say so. Don't continue if it makes you feel uncomfortable. I won't be angry. We'll go to your limits."

"Thank you," whispered Max, opening his own panel.

Rung unspooled one of his cables, blushing even harder at Max's approving grunt. He plugged the end of his cable into the opening of the adapter, then plugged the other end into Max. _Here's hoping this fits._

There was a soft click. It fit. Oh, Primus, it fit. They groaned as the first connection was made, a tingling buzz of electricity, interpreted by the processor as pleasure. Rung vented a soft sigh. It had been so long, so long since he'd shared information with another. He'd forgotten how good it felt. 

"Are you okay?"

"Aah, yes, keep going. Please, Rung."

Rung used another adapter to connect the next cable, his spark practically exploding at the sound that escaped Max's vocalizer. An almost whimper. Somehow the naughtiest thing he had ever heard.

When he connected the third cable, Rung couldn't resist sending a teasing data packet over the line. 

Max shook. "Frag, that's good."

And it was. So very, very good to be wrapped in Max's energy field and feel the hot, sparking current running between them. Non-essential systems started going offline. Rung let them, all his attention fixated on the gorgeous bot beneath him. Fortress Maximus writhing in pleasure. Optics squeezed shut, begging for more in a strained whisper.

"Max," said Rung. "Can we keep going? I can plug you into me, if you feel up to it."

Max's optics flew open, and he pinned Rung with a gaze that almost had Rung overloading on the spot. "Don't you _dare_ stop."

Rung hesitated, giving Max a chance to unspool his own cables if that's what he wanted. When the big bot didn't move, Rung reached over and pulled out one of Max's wide cords. He fished in the box for one of the large-to-small adapters, screwing it onto the tip of Max's equipment. He held optic contact, not breaking away, as he jacked the cable into his own port.

The two-way connection sparked to life, slamming Rung with a pulse of energy that sent a wave of pleasure through his whole frame. He shivered, looking down at the cables connecting them. Oh my but it was delightfully filthy, to see those thick cords running between their interface panels. To hear the whirring of fans working overtime, the desperate hitching of Max's ventilation system. 

Max was making all sorts of delightful little sounds, grunts and pleas and huffs of desire. "More, dammit."

The needy tone in his voice snapped the rest of Rung's patience. The therapist yanked at Max's last two cables, screwing them into the adapters with shaking hands. Abandoning the last pretense of slow sensuality, he jammed the cables one after another into his ports, moaning long and low when they were finally connected.

Information flowed between them at a rate that bordered on alarming. Charge built up fast, an aching pleasure as it raced through their systems. Rung was bowled over by the power of it, how good it felt, the unique bliss of Max's energy signature.

Below him, Max was unraveling. "Yes, yes, yes. Oh, Rung….that's….oh, Primus…"

Rung sent over a steady stream of data, laced with all the admiration and desire he had for Max. He could feel Max open up to him, feel all aspects of the complex mech beneath him. He held back, just skating along the surface of Max's programming without going too deep. He didn't want to dredge up painful memories or guilt or anything too dark. Right now was for trust and feeling good.

And Max certainly seemed to be feeling good. Head thrown back, struts taught. His motor revving loudly.

Rung leaned until they were face to face, until he could smell Max's polish. Slowly, careful not to dislodge the cords. "Maximus." He cupped Max's cheek. "I'll be good to you, Max." Their lips hovered a breath apart, fields melding between them. "I'm gonna be so good to you." 

With that, he executed a fierce surge of energy through the connection. Sending everything his spark had. Rung felt like he was about to catch fire, so great was the heat in his own frame. "To take you this way." He groaned. "Such a pleasure."

There was a loud pop, and tendrils of smoke appeared between them. Max tipped his head back and _wailed_ , overloading with Rung's name on his lips. Or what sounded like the beginning of Rung's name, before his vocalizer dissolved into static.

It all came racing back across the line, the white-hot pleasure of Max's overload. An exquisite pressure started in Rung’s panel, and burst through every circuit in his body. Waves of deep, unrelenting bliss that knocked half his systems offline and had Rung clutching to Max. Sobbing some silly overload noise as he squirmed in Max's arms, dissolving together in a sea of binary ecstasy. Finishing each other's commands, base coding meshing so perfectly that Rung couldn't tell where he his consciousness ended and Max's systems began.

The room filled with sparks and the smell of ozone, berth quaking like the whole ship was coming apart. Rung moaned through the remainder of his perfect pleasure, overloading harder than he ever had in his life.

They slowly came down together, shivering in the aftershocks. Max's hand stroked his helm as Rung ignored the various warnings flashing through his system. 

"Oh wow," said Max in a deliciously exhausted, well-fragged tone. "That was amazing."

"That," said Rung, raising his head to meet Max's optics. "was syzygy."

"Really? Then I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but slag I love psychology."

Rung laughed, curling into Max's chest. Perfect. At first a hindrance, now their size difference felt perfect. He could get used to this. Looking around, he realized with a start that the berth they were on was no longer affixed to the wall, but a complete slab on the floor of the room.

"Oh dear, did the berth actually _break_? I felt something move, but I thought, well….."

Max interrupted him. "You just thought I was rocking your world that hard? Yeah, I have that effect." Then he scoffed and slapped one of his hands over his face. "Actually, I think these berths just aren't rated for my weight and frame class."

"Well then," said Rung. "We'll just have to recharge on the floor. If…if you want to spend the night, that is."

Max wrapped his arms around Rung and kissed the top of his head. "I'd like that."

They lay there for a while, cables still connected, Rung listening to Max's idling motor. Until the calm was broken by a very un-Fortress-Maximus-like chuckle. "You know, your spark is really strong. I could feel it through the line. Thought it was gonna burn me alive there for a second."

"So I've been told."

"No, I mean, _really_ strong. What is it with you, anyway?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're like this awesome mystery. The guy who's always there, but no one notices. The mech with the strongest spark and the strangest alt mode."

Rung didn't know what to say. After millions of years, he'd grown accustomed to the troublesome intimacy of all his secrets. To hear someone else acknowledge them felt weird.

Max's hand continued to caress Rung's head. "And it bothers you," he said softly. "I mean, why wouldn't it? No one remembers you."

"Heh, I'm a tiny, non-warrior class bot with an ancient frame who tells people what they don't want to hear for a living. I guess I'm kind of forgettable."

"Pfft, screw that. You're amazing. But it's bizarre, like you have some sort of attention deflector around your whole being. You're important, Rung, in a way none of us understand. I just know it."

Rung met Max's optics. "Thank you," he whispered.

It all seemed so impossible, having the conversation about his life with the bot that, just a few months ago, had threatened to kill him. A relationship that started with one kind of passion, and ended with another. His dream mech, a beautiful, erratic, strong and sweet and angry former patient. In that moment Rung realized, in his attempts to help Fortress Maximus, he had also helped himself. Incorporating long lost archetypes, pieces of himself he didn't even know he was missing.

After all this time, still learning. The thought inspired him. This quest really was about them, all of them. About lonely people trying to become whole.

Max smiled, his normally serious face cracking into something much more playful. "I'll tell you one thing I'm sure of, Doctor Rung." He pulled Rung up a little, until they were face to face. And moments before pressing their lips together he said, "To me, you are unforgettable."

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I'm getting sappy in my old age. And wordy. If you stuck with this whole thing, I really appreciate it! I truly hope you were entertained.


End file.
